


pride of family

by rayfelle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Multi, Regulus survives au, Sirius as Harry's father
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-29 10:39:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 43,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6371530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rayfelle/pseuds/rayfelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All it takes is one letter for Harry to find out that he still has family alive that loves and wants him.</p><p>The Blacks never forget and forgive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Before Hogwarts

**Author's Note:**

> At first it was meant to be one big oneshot, but by the time I had written by the middle of 3rd year I had 53 pages and almost 32,000 words. I think separating the whole mass of text into chapters (based on years) would be better. Well, I will see how it goes.  
> I hope you guys like this!
> 
> Start is the time before Hogwarts, about how Harry was taken away from the Dursley's and got and actual family.

Harry squints at the metal bracelet wrapped loosely around his wrist. Shadows play along the engraved lines of his name ( _Harry Muliphen James Black_ ) but he can still make out the words, mouth along every curve and dip to keep them real. He closes his eyes, repeats the three names and a surname one more time before finally looking down on the note lying by the closed cupboard door.

 _Harry Black,_  
_The Cupboard under the Stairs,_  
 _4, Private Drive,_  
 _Little Whinging,_  
 _Surrey_

He reads the cursive that is so alike to the one that curls the marks of his bracelet --- but also different, a new kind of handwriting that speaks of elegance and pride in a different way than the handwriting of his father. At the tender age of seven Harry finds pride in knowing these things. Somehow.

The Dursleys think he is a freak for it. They hate these little _magical_ things that happened around him. The few talents that Harry possesses are forbidden in this house and only bring forth beating and yelling if he used them deliberately. If he tries to become someone special, brave enough to stand up to his cousin that likes to hit him and aunt that calls him the _trash of my sister_.

Harry unfolds the note carefully, as if the quietest sound would wake up his uncle and aunt. He waits for a minute before actually reading it, more nervous then when he had to explain to his teachers that the ugly bruises on his arms came from falling down, rather than the rocks that Duddley threw at him. He breathes slowly and reads over the few words scribbled in the beautiful cursive.

_Harry,_

_I know that you know nothing of my, **our** , world. But, please, listen carefully to what I will tell you._

_In two days time I will come for you, take you away from those vile muggles. How dare they! How dare they treat you, the son of my brother, my own nephew, like… like that!_

_Unforgivable, Harry._

_I am so sorry it took me seven years to find you, to find out about the injustice done to my brother. But I will fix it, Harry. I will fix this. Soon._

_Two days, Harry. In two days be ready to leave that wretched house for good. I don’t care what Dumbledore thinks, you will not live like that! A child of a Black will not live like some mutt!_

_Forgive me, Harry, for sounding so angry. It is not because of you, nor meant towards you. I direct my anger towards Dumbledore, who could have prevented all of this and, instead, chose to put an innocent child through hell._

_Wait for me._

_Your loving uncle,  
Regulus Arcturus Black_

Harry stares at the words with a startled awe, with bright hope sliding through his blood as he whispers the words again and again and again. So his father is alive. So someone out there still cares about him. Someone might actually not think of him as a freak of a boy, someone abnormal. Someone out there could… might… possibly love him.

It is a strange notion, but one that Harry wants to cling to with every last bit of what little strength he has and never let go.

…

What little Harry has (things that aren’t Duddley’s hand-me-downs or broken things he had picked up along the way) was packed in a small, old backpack and sat by the cupboard door. The excitement and nervousness keeping him on his toes gave way to small mistakes, things he dropps and dishes he messes up.

His cheek still hurts where Petunia slapped him just moments before because of a ruined batch of pasta.

The knock on the door brings back the fake posh and politeness of his aunt and uncle, the carefully trained smiles for anyone who came by. Harry stays in the kitchen, stands still and barely breathes as he feels the heavy glare of his uncle on the back of his head. Has Regulus, his other uncle, finally come? And all of this isn’t just some prank; some cruel joke played on him for the sake of others’ amusement.

“Yes, how may I help you, sir?” Petunia’s voice has that forced calmness she uses when talking to someone who she thinks is below her. People like Harry, people who do not fit in her own ideals and norms.

“You can help me by getting out of my way, _muggle_.” The man’s voice holds an accent Harry doesn’t recognize. Anger spikes in the man’s voice when the last part is spoken out – another word that Harry does not recognize. “You are lucky I do not kill you for the way you have treated my nephew.”

Uncle Vernon is already standing up, face a dark red and fists balled up when the slender man with wind-swept black hair walks into the kitchen, the grey of his eyes cold and unforgiving when they land on Vernon. When the same grey lands on Harry the ice melts instantly, a kind smile curves the man’s lips and turns his face handsome and young again. At least, until he notices the stinging red of Petunia’s palm-print and scratches of her nails on Harry’s cheek.

Somewhere in the background Vernon yells loud enough to make Harry’s ears ring. “How dare you! Are you—Are you one of them? Those _freaks_! Get out of my house and take that bastard child with you!”

“Do not.” Regulus is speaking calmly, quietly. But the temperature in the room drops and uncle Vernon chokes on his own spit when Regulus points a beautifully carved, black and pointy wooden stick ( _a wand, Harry_ , his mind seems to remind the boy, _you’ll get one yourself when you grow up_ ) right between Vernon’s eyes. “Do not dare to speak about me and my family in that way, muggle. For everything you have done to this boy I would gladly turn you inside out, make you suffer in ways you cannot imagine. But I will not, since I promised my brother to put the safety of his son first.”

Harry blinks and Regulus is already holding the backpack with his things and reaches out his hand to him. For a moment everything seems like a dream, still. But Harry doesn’t hesitate to grab onto the pianist fingers, so warm around his palm, and whispers a quiet _thank you_ to the man that has come to save him.

“Remember. I _can_ and I _will_ come back. And I _will_ do what I must, if I find out you have badmouthed my family again.” Regulus’ fingers tighten their hold onto Harry’s hand and he directs one more disgust-filled look around the room, towards the occupants of the house that Harry hates the most.

Before they are out of the door the boy turns around and grins, for the first time in so long, as he says, “I hope I never have to see you again!”

…

“Uncle Regulus---”

“Reggie. Uncle Reggie, Harry. Your father called me that a long time ago and I have grown to miss this destruction of my own name. Besides,” Regulus smiles down on his nephew and ruffles the black mess of a hair at the top of Harry’s head, “I would much rather be uncle Reggie, no matter what the pureblood customs demand.”

Harry laughs – he feels so happy and so… worth something. It’s been a few days and he’s gotten a new set of clothes and things to call his own. New and undamaged, and so _magical_ above everything else. He now knows about the magical community, about why he has so few memories about his parents, the reasons why he had to live with the Dursleys. There is a world where he belongs, a world where everyone knows his name and he’s thought of as a hero.

Not a freak. Not a _trash of my sister_.

“Uncle Reggie.” He tries again. “Can you tell me about dad and mum? Well, mum, really. You told me lots about my dad already.” But it’s also because Sirius is still alive. In prison for crimes he did not do and put there without a trial, but alive. But Harry’s mom… He only knew what Petunia thought of his mom and those were things that he vowed to never repeat to anyone.

Regulus busies himself with his morning toast, seemingly in thought. “Well, I never knew your mother well. She was in Gryffindor, together with Sirius and his friends. Lily was… Well, she was smart, brave and not afraid to strike back with as much, if not more, as she was hit with. You will need to ask Sirius for something more, I am afraid, since I did not speak with her.” He seems almost apologetic.

“Oh! But I have pictures. They are my brother’s albums, though.” The man stands up and walks out of the kitchen into the small living room, with the kind of grace that cannot be learned. Harry tried to move the same way as Regulus and failed miserably. Maybe one day he will know how. “These ones movie, unlike the muggle pictures. Lily had a beautiful smile – you have her smile, I think.”

They both sit at the kitchen table (Regulus’ apartment doesn’t have much in it, since he doesn’t plan on using it for much longer) and bend over the leather-bound albums. Harry’s eyes widen when he sees all the people moving and the places he has never heard of before. Regulus points out who is who and repeats the few stories that he knows about the photographs that they see.

“This is your father. We look quite alike, used to at least, but he has always been the most charming between us two.” Regulus pauses when they reach a photo of four boys, all dressed in bright red and yellow, laughing about something and holding each other close. “The Marauders. Your dad, James Potter, Remus Lupin and… Peter Pettigrew. They were inseparable, the best of friends. And your mother, here.” He points to a picture below the one with the four boys, where Lily is wrapped in James’ arms and smiles bright and wide enough it seems like she is shining.

Harry squints at the way his uncle had said the name of Peter Pettigrew. But decides not to ask about the hesitation and the quite anger, instead he chooses to look at his mother and the boy that holds her close. “Why’s she not with dad?”

“Ah. It’s a little complicated and not a story for someone who is only seven years old, but she loved both your father and James. Could not choose one over the other. Things happened, so to say, and so she picked neither. At least, as far as I know. Not sure.” Regulus looks at Harry, sighs quietly. “Things were hard then, with the war and all. But she loved you with all her heart, Harry, never doubt that.”

…

The first time Harry sees Sirius (as far as he can remember, at least), he sees a man with hollow cheeks and dirty hair, as thin as Harry himself was from being starved both from food and happiness. There is not even a shadow of the boy from the pictures left in the cut-out of the man that stands before the jury in the magical court. But the grey of the man’s eyes is the same kind of grey as Regulus’ and it shines with a kind of energy that only belongs in a human being as free as the wind.

“I am so sorry this is your first meeting with him, Harry. Azkaban is a terrible place.” Regulus bites his bottom lip, seems to think better of it and reverts back to the pureblood heir he was raised to become. “It took me so long to even get them to agree for a trial, to prove them that I am indeed not dead and, well, not one of _them_. That is why it also took me a while to find and get you.”

Harry furrows his brows in so many questions he will surely ask later on. Regulus had told him that the Ministry was no place for secrets and facts as fragile as these ones, it seems. The both of them are here as support for Sirius, as his family, as his defense and proof of innocence.

He doesn’t understand the things the Minister talks about. He doesn’t know most of the words that fall from old, dried lips of men and women as ancient as time itself - even some of the younger ones speak in a language that seems foreign to the child’s ears. Maybe once he’s older Regulus and his dad will explain this to him, teach him these words.

“Sirius Orion Black, you have agreed to testify under the effects of veritaserum. Correct.” When the man next to the Minister speaks ( _Crouch_ , Regulus mutters to himself) his questions sound like orders. As if they are absolute and unbreakable.

Sirius’ lips twitch as if he’s trying hard to suppress laughter, or a smile even, but he stands tall and with his head held high. Every word that falls from his lips is sure, _strong_ and powerful. “I did.”

And so the trial truly begins. The questioning, the truth that comes into the light after six years of being suppressed and shushed into hiding makes many of the present gasp and mutter quietly between themselves. The reporters hang to every word, no doubt already praying for the headlines to be theirs come tomorrow morning. It’s scary, almost. But also empowering - the way his father seems to take charge of the trial without even lifting a finger.

…

“You’ve grown so much, pup! And you look like me, oh Merlin. But with her eyes.” Sirius’ hands are on either side of Harry’s face, his thumbs slide across the pronounced cheekbones and bruise that is still healing on the boy’s left cheek. He seems close to crying and Harry understands. “I am so sorry. For not being there. For what you had to suffer.”

Regulus had left the two of them alone in the empty living room, but not before spending minutes locked together in a hug with his brother, despite the filth covering Sirius from head to toe. A _welcome back home, brother_ and a _thank Merlin you are alive_ all stuffed in the tight hold of their arms around each other and the barely held back tears. A reunion. A long due get-together. The kind of love that exists between close family.

“It’s okay. Uncle Reggie told me you had it really bad as well. So, uh, I don’t know. I’m just glad I get to meet you. And that I don’t have to live with the Dursleys anymore. And that I have a bed. But mostly I am really happy that I have a dad now and even a cool uncle and now I know that doing weird stuff is okay _andandand_ \--- And I have you and that’s brilliant.” The words are falling out of Harry’s mouth and he isn’t sure when to stop, but the emotions and everything else is just rolling out of him like tidal waves.

And without waiting for Sirius – his dad – to reply or say something of his own, Harry hiccups and wraps his hands around the man’s neck and starts to cry. He’s no longer ashamed of his tears, doesn’t care that two grownups see him like this. Because now he’s too happy that he has a family and someone that loves him to care about anything else.

Sirius holds him close and Harry can feel wet patches forming on his shirt, above his shoulder. “Oh, Harry. I missed you so much. I was such an _idiot_ for going after—For trusting that old goat with you. Oh, my boy, I love you so much.”

They stay there for a long time, both reluctant to pull away now that they have finally met, but Regulus comes back to remind them that the floor is too hard and too cold. For them both. And Sirius needs a bath, a date with a toothbrush and a shave, a change of clothes as well. A check-up tomorrow at St. Mungos, to fix whatever Azkaban had damaged and to find out what they would need to do in the long run.

“Come on, off you go. Both of you. A bath is needed and I will cut your hair a little shorter for you, Sirius. No, not completely short, but just enough to make it look somewhat healthy again.” Regulus hands each a towel before pushing them in the direction of the bathroom. He puts Harry on back washing duty, to make sure Sirius doesn’t over-exert himself.

Later, when the three of them are already in their beds and falling asleep, Harry whispers a quiet _thank you_ to the darkness. Sirius’ hold around him tightens for a moment and then the man slips in a restless sleep, but still the best one he’s had in a years.

…

The hospital visit is nothing but a blur to Harry.

Men and women of all ages and dressed in clothes he still isn’t used to zip past him, sometimes bump into him and make him lag behind his uncle and father. But somehow both of the adults can always tell whenever he’s held up and come and get him, until finally Regulus places both of his hands on Harry’s shoulders and walks behind the boy. To not get lost and to make sure no one here accidentally steps or harms the _Boy-Who-Lived_ , even if the offending party would know only later on. When the Blacks get their revenge for harming one of their own.

“Good thing your hair is such a mess, pup.” Sirius laughs from the bed he had been told to lay on while a medwitch checks every part of his body, determines what potions should they give him and what needs to be taken care of. “You got that from your mum, just to be clear. My hair is _always_ on point.”

Regulus rolls his eyes and bends down to whisper Harry in the ear, “Only aristocratic thing he cares about is looks and clothes. Vain, Harry, so vain.” He is teasing, joking around for the years they had missed. It’s obvious in the fake pout dancing on Sirius’ lips and the shaking of his uncle’s shoulders, as he tries not to laugh too much.

They spend the whole day there. Sirius’ condition is bad, but not the worst they had seen. New teeth and bones that needed fixing. Potions for nightmares and a special diet to get the man’s weight back up (Harry got one as well, when the nurse saw his bony fingers and noticed how cold he was, even when the heating was on). One of the first steps in forgetting the magical prison and the hell that had breathed cold against Sirius’ skin.

“This is an old Black estate. I think it belonged to father’s side of the family, right?” Regulus looks past the old gate standing before them and the cottage hidden by what used to be a garden and now looked more like a jungle. Harry loves it already.

Sirius tinkers with the lock and key, frowning at how the rust makes everything slower and longer. “Came here to get away from dear mumsy, dad did. She thought this place was beneath her, what was it, ah? Status, or something. You know how she was, the banshee.” He had taken the key out of his vaults, before coming here. The goblins still have him in a bad mood.

Harry peers through the gaps of the metal gate. “Can I have my own room here? I’ve never had my own room before.” His voice is small, full of hope. Even if the boy already knows that these two will make sure that he is happy, sometimes the old fears come back and Harry can’t help it. He can’t help but worry if, perhaps, he is hoping too much. Believing that everything is really as it should be.

“Of course you can.” Sirius stops and his attempts to unlock the gates and pulls his son close, squishes the boy in his side. “You can have whichever room you want and whatever you want to have. Don’t you worry, Harry. Your old man and uncle will spoil you rotten now.” He then places a kiss atop of Harry’s head and finally unlocks the gates. Perhaps the magic needed to see this kind of parental love and the rust had nothing to do with the keys and wards.

Regulus and Sirius watch Harry run forward and disappear into the foliage of green, red and blue that is their very own jungle. Shouts of glee travel back to them from somewhere inside the garden. For a moment the two don’t say anything, just breathe in the air of the Black estate and marvel each other’s presence, think of the new Heir  that they will raise and teach the ways of a wizard.

“Those muggles, I almost killed them when I got your son. They… They kept the boy in a cupboard, under the stairs. Treated him like some, _some_ house-elf.” Regulus whispers into the evening air and turns to look at his brother, to see the rage burning bright and scolding in Sirius’ eyes. Lily had always said that her sister was one of the worst (everyone in the school knew, since she complained so loudly at times), but it seemed like Dumbledore cared little of the child’s happiness when he had given Harry away.

“Thanks, Reggie. Thanks for getting him out of there. And for getting me out of that pit. Even… even after everything that happened between us… I thought you were dead and my two best friends _were_ dead. Remus was Merlin knows where, the other one a traitor and my own kid hidden _somewhere_. I was going mad there, in Azkaban.” Sirius doesn’t say anything else, but there is no need.

They are brothers, after all. Regulus knows of the things unsaid and things hidden beneath those words. There is no need to open old wounds just as they have finally started to heal and scab over. This is their new start.

…

Uncle Remus (but Harry calls him _Moony_ because that nickname seems to wake the tired man up the best) comes to live with them a year later. Regulus was the one who went to find and then drag Remus back to their cottage, their home.

Harry still doesn’t know why his father and Moony didn’t get back together sooner, since in the pictures the two were always close and happy, so young and carefree that Harry hopes he will be the same one day. The stories Sirius told him, about the pictures and ones he just suddenly remembers, about the things he did while in school, about the pranks and the happy times were like Harry’s own brand of fairy tales. So full of life and laughter, so _magical_ \--- He wants to know everything there is about his father and his friends.

It took the both of them – Sirius and Regulus – a while to find the man ( _werewolf_ , Harry mouthed the word again, before falling asleep last night). Tracks well hidden and packs abandoned, Remus Lupin moved like a shadow in the wizard world, quietly and carefully. They knew so little of what had become of the man after he had been accused as a liar and traitor, no letter was replied to. Sirius said that he deserved that – the silence and the ignorance. But this was for the sake of saving a life that had suffered as much and more than he had. So no means were too low to find and bring back the other Marauder still alive and left behind.

And now he is here.

Harry hides behind a wall when Regulus comes home and Remus is with him, pale and tired and scarred. Once again Harry has so many questions, but he stays quiet and watches the shock play along his father’s face. The way Remus seems to sag into himself and breathe relief. The both of them seem lost and confused, too shocked to do anything other than take each other in silently.

Regulus comes to crouch next to him, also interested in how it all will play out, but giving them their privacy. “Remus will live with us now. In the room next to mine, the one with the dog sculpture in it. I hope you do not mind, Harry.” He whispers and then falls silent, as time starts to move forward to the two friends that had been separated by war.

“You look like shit, Moony.” Sirius laughs, the sound breaking into a sob somewhere in the middle. “And you have new scars. Your sense of style has suffered as well. Oh, _Moony_.” He takes a shuddering breath and then steps forward, enveloping Remus in a hug long overdue.

Remus falls apart as well, eyes tightly squeezed shut and fingers clutching onto the shirt Sirius has on. “Like you’re the one to talk, Padfoot. I… _Sirius_ , I am so sorry for everything. I am so sorry for, for leaving you just like that. For… for a lot of things, really.” They look both so broken, so tired. But at the same time it’s as if the weight of so many regrets and guilt seems to finally slip away and leave them both breathing easier.

“Moony, you idiot, I should be apologizing to you. You were the one who said that Wormtail is the actual spy, that you could smell the dark magic on him.” Sirius pulls away and laughs, through the tears. “We’re both old idiots, Remus.”

Regulus smiles into Harry’s hair and gets up to fix something for dinner, pulling Harry along with him. Later, they will all sit down to eat and Remus will introduce him to Harry and talk about the _good old days_ as well, red-eyed but happy. Sirius will clap his friend on the back and announce that he stays here, forever, in the room upstairs.

There will be bickering and a food fight, a very annoyed Regulus trying to clean up the kitchen after it. But Harry will sit between the two Marauders and ask question after question, letting his curiosity run wild and the need to learn to take over. He’ll fall asleep on Sirius, to the sound of Remus’ quiet laughter.


	2. Year One

“Dad! Come on, there is already a crowd for the brooms!” Harry runs before them and dives between the people, disappearing from the three watchful gazes with almost no effort at all.

Sirius almost panics, but Remus’ laugh makes him sign in resignation. The boy had inherited his own skills in getting lost to whoever was looking after him when he wanted to, especially in the Diagon Alley and so close to the beginning of a new school year. The chatter of voices, crashes and small explosions mixing together with the laugher and yelling of small children and teens, is enough to help with Harry’s act of disappearance.

Luckily for the three of them (two, really, since Regulus is no longer besides them and off on his own errands), Remus’ position as a Dark Creature allows the man to have a keen sense of smell and hearing, which helps in finding and knowing the location their small and active charge. Not that it is hard to guess where Harry had run off to, since the boy had raved about the new Nimbus for weeks now. As cute as his enthusiasm was, the adults were beginning to think it was a little too much excitement for someone that small (Harry thought otherwise, like most times).

“Come on, pup. You can drool over brooms a little later. We need to get you robes and school things.” Sirius finds his son staring wide-eyed at the Nimbus 2000, which _was_ a _beautiful_ broomstick. “Your wand as well. If you do well in school we’ll get you one.  Promise.” He steers the child away from the pack of gossiping boys Harry’s age and down the street to Olivander’s place.

Remus leaves the two of them soon after, taking Harry’s list of books with him. The man knows the bookshops like the backs of his hands, as well as the webs of scars lining his skin, so trusting him with finding where to look and what to better pick was the smartest thing to do. Sirius manages to yell a _be sure to pick something for yourself as well, Moony_ over his shoulder before his old friend disappears between two witches, clad in sky blue and silver, as easy as breathing. Maybe Harry had learned that skill from Remus, rather than his own father.

As they stand before the wandmaker’s shop Harry squeezes Sirius’ fingers tightly, worry furrowing his brows and mouth. Fear of being rejected bubbling up from the depths of his being. Like old scars that sometimes open up on their own. “What if I don’t get a wand? Will you still like me?” He wants to ask something else; wants to know that all the things the Dursleys had told him were lies. But there isn’t quite enough courage for that in the boy just yet.

“Of course I will, Harry. You’re my kid. I will love you no matter what.” Sirius first calms Harry down, smiles gently and fights back the need to place a quick kiss on the worry still playing along the shadows covering his son’s face. “And, besides, you’ve already done so much magic, love. The books you levitated, the plants you burned down on accident and the cups you repaired. You have magic, strong magic. So there is also a wand meant just for you out there, somewhere. We’ll find it.”

“Okay. If you say so. You’re usually right, dad.” Harry clutches onto his father’s fingers once more before he takes a deep breath and pulls the both of them inside the dark shop. The fear is still there, somewhere. Nagging him in little whispers. But the warmth of Sirius’ hand is closer and stronger, the truth of the man’s words brighter than the darkness left behind by the years of _bad_.

The ring above the door rings softy as they step inside. The noise of the outside world dies down with the click of the door as it closes behind Sirius. The eerie darkness seems to be almost moving, followed by a faint scratch of quill against parchment. Sirius grins down at his boy and pushes him slightly forward, one hand still on Harry’s shoulder. For support. “Mister Olivander?”

“Ahhh, yes, yes! I have been… waiting for you.” The wandmaker slides out from in-between the stacks of boxes as if he were a ghost. He smiles, the skin stretching against his face to fold into well-worn wrinkles and walks closer to the father and son pair. “I remember when you came here, Mister Black. Dragon heartstring, cypress.  Capable of strong and complex spells that wand. You found it on the first try. And your mother, young Black, she was here too. I remember. A willow wand, nice for charm work.”

“Now, Mister Black, the youngest. We will find a wand for you as well, one that will serve you well.” Olivander disappears between the shelves while the measuring tape slithers to Harry and starts taking measurements. “Which one is your wand arm, I wonder.”

“Uhm, my right one?” Harry replies with a question, shooting his father a worried look. No one had told him about how choosing a wand really worked, so this was just a little bit confusing. He gets a grin for a reply and then turns around to try and spot Olivander again. “How are you gonna know which is the right one?”

A rusty sort of sound comes from the aisle where the wandmaker had disappeared in, probably a chuckle, before the man slides out again and stands before Harry with a box in his hands. “The wand chooses the wizard, or witch. You will know when it has made the choice, Mister Black.”

Slowly Harry reaches forward and takes the wand. It’s a pale grey wood, curvy in shape and light. He feels no tingling sensation, nothing that might make it seem like it would be _the wand_. But still, the boy tries to perform a spmell he had seen Regulus do before, to float boxes and things that he hadn’t wanted to carry up the stairs. Just at the light on top of Olivander’s desk explodes, Harry quickly puts the wand back down and smiles shyly, apologetically.

“Not the one, hm. No worries, no worries. We will find it sooner or later.” Olivander closes the box and pulls out his own wand, fixes the broken lamp on his way back in the rows of wand boxes. This time his mutters are louder than before and when he comes back there is a small frown on his face. “Well, perhaps this one. Pine and dragon heartstring, alike to your father’s wand.” He hands Harry the wand, a dark brown with something engraved in the handle.

Once more Harry feels nothing special about this one. But he swishes it nonetheless, jumps a little when a couple of the boxes next to them fall from the shelves and tumble on the ground (though, none of the wands fall out of them). Before the boy even has a chance to apologize, the wand is taken out of his hands gently and a new one is presented to him.

Black, simple design, it seems. Smooth and with a rather sturdy handle. He wraps his fingers around the handle and gasps quietly. There are tingles running down his arm now, a vibration that spreads from the tips of his fingers into himself. Sparks, pale and golden, float out from the tip of the wand, circle around the room before dying out.

“Most curious.” Olivander places the casket of Harry’s wand on his desk, glances at Sirius with worried eyes. “Holly and phoenix feather for the core. Nice and supple, a good wand. It will serve you well, Mister Black. However…” He stops once more, unsure of himself. “Best you know, I suppose. The brother of this wand, one that shares the core of a phoenix feather from the same bird as yours, was used by a powerful wizard. He did horrible, horrible things. But his power could not be denied.”

“You mean…?” Sirius speaks for the first time, worry loud and apparent in his voice. Harry looks back at him, afraid that he had done something he should not. “Not your fault, pup. The wand chooses, you heard. But, is it… Is it safe?” He speaks to Olivander now, hand once more placed on Harry’s shoulder. A reassurance. Support.

The wandmaker smiles, then. “Do not worry, Mister Black. It is not the wand that chooses the wizard’s path. But the wizard himself. Your son has nothing to worry about.” And with that, he escorts the both of them out of his shop. The world gains both color and sound so suddenly it seems almost blinding.

…

All three adults stand on the packed platform, hidden from the eyes of the muggles with layers of old and new magic. Remus is chatting with Arthur Weasley about school books and Ministry laws, the conversation shifting quickly from one thing to another. Sirius is giving Harry last minute tips in trouble-making and secret passages, secret rooms hidden behind portraits of old Black family members.

Regulus later leans down to give his nephew a quick hug and whispers, “Please do not set fire to the school, Harry. At least wait until you are a month in or so.” When he straightens out he smiles at the laughter that pours out of the little boy in waves. The white owl he had bought Harry sits on the boy’s shoulder and hoots quietly.

“What if the other kids don’t like me?” Harry asks mere minutes before the train is supposed to depart. He leans out of the compartment window and looks at his father and two favorite uncles in the whole world, unsure and scared. “And what if I get in the wrong house, or don’t get sorted at all? What do I do then?”

“Don’t worry, pup, you will do _just great_! The hat will sort you and no matter where you get sorted into we will all love you just as much.” Sirius reaches out to ruffle the mess of his son’s black hair. “Be it Gryffindor or Slytherin, doesn’t matter. Just have fun and learn new things.”

“You will make friends. Good ones. That will stick with you for the rest of your life. I am sure, since you are your father’s son.” Remus hums and leans a little to one side in order to see something behind Harry. His brown eyes seem to twinkle just a little bit at whatever is happening behind the worried first year.

Harry frowns and twists his head to look behind himself as well. A red-haired boy slumps heavily against the compartment door, his trunk jammed next to him, between the doors. “Sorry. Is this one free? Everywhere else is full and I am _sick_ of pulling this thing along, bloody hell.” He huffs and glares down at the trunk as if was the responsible for everything.

“No, it’s just me here.” Harry says, unsure what to do next. So he shrugs and turns back to his small family, “Well, I guess so. I’ll write as soon as I can about what house I am in and stuff. Uncle Reggie, please look after dad and Mooney. They are bad at it by themselves.”

He gets a promise from Regulus and two mock glares from Sirius and Remus. Finally the train starts to move and the parents send their last _good luck_ wishes and _write me soon_ s. Harry waves to his little family for a little while, watches the tree men apparate away and then settles in his seat. The red-haired boy is watching him with curiosity.

“What’s your name? I’m Ron Weasley. My dad was talking to your uncle, I saw them.” Ron pulls out two packets of chocolate frogs and hands one of them to Harry, like a peace offering of sorts. There is a friendly grin playing on his face and suddenly the notion of having a friend seems possible and so very real.

Harry takes the offered sweet and straightens out, like Regulus had taught him just last month. Introductions were _important_ and _had to be done right_. “I’m Harry Black, of House Black. And your dad seemed fun.” He quickly loses the proper stance and voice, eager to offer Ron a sweet of his own (sugar quill, something Remus had given him that morning).

…

  _Dear dad, uncle Reggie and Moony_

_I put up a fight with the hat and it put me in Gryffindor, together with Ron, cause I’m stubborn. His brothers are pretty cool, the ones that are twins. They are kind of like the Marauders only just two, and finish each other’s sentences a lot. It’s funny._

_Draco came up to me and told me that I went down the same family traitor line as you did and that my m-word mom had a lot to do with this. I did what uncle Reggie taught me to do and stood up straight and looked at him down my nose and said ‘I am heir of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black. I outrank you, puny noble.’ And then I hexed him with the boogie spell Moony taught me._

_It was awesome and I think Ron swore me eternal loyalty for that._

_A girl called Hermione started reading me a lecture about school rules and stuff, but Ron told her that Draco insulted my family and it had to be done. She stopped talking once one of Ron’s brothers said the same thing after we were already sorted (the twins, they are so cool!!)._

_I hope I will be good at doing magic._

_Love,  
Harry._

Sirius grins down at the letter, reading the messy scrawl out loud for the other two men in the house to hear. While the part where Harry had fought with the hat is a little bit strange and they decide to just ask Harry about it when they see him in person, Regulus hums in approval when he hears about the Malfoy situation.

“A true Black response. Minus the hexing, but Harry _is_ you son, so what else could we have expected. But at least Remus’ teachings stick to him.” Regulus sips his tea and his eyes shine with pride. Even if he had long since understood that the things Walburga and Orion Black had taught him were wrong, that most of the beliefs passed from one Black heir to another were the kind of venom that Voldermot had fed to his follower, Regulus still firmly believed in pureblood etiquette.

He taught Harry the same things that his own parents had taught him and Sirius, when they were even younger. About family status and manners, about situations when a certain way of speech was needed – how to act when family honor was insulted, because family was everything, even Sirius had admitted that. And to hear that Harry now applied those lessons to situations when someone close to him was insulted, like a proper heir to a powerful House… It was a good feeling, the one Regulus felt at the moment.

“He is really good at that hex, Harry. And he’s made a friend already. The Weasleys are good people, with a good sense of what is right and wrong. Remember Bill, Sirius?” Remus slides the letter out from his old friend’s fingers and rereads it himself; just to be sure nothing was missed. He suspects that Harry’s worries over magic were long since gone, but it was just a simple reflex of sorts at this point.

Sirius leans back in his chair, nods. “Yeah. Always liked those guys. Molly’s food is top notch as well, so if my kid and theirs get close we’ll get to eat at their place pretty often. I remember Bill, confident first year he was. Heard he does curse breaking now, grew tall as well.” He’s calm now, no longer worried about his only son. With Ron as a friend, and the rest of the Weasley kids there to look after their own and his friends, it seems like everything will work out.

…

Harry follows behind his Head of the House, McGonagall, still clutching onto the old school broomstick. The dive was well done, he thinks to himself, the remebrall safe and secure in the hold of his other hand. Perhaps Hermione had been right about following the rules and not getting in trouble, but Draco had once more insulted his family and, this time, his friends as well. And Regulus did tell him to never allow someone to do that.

Perhaps only detention is in store for him. Harry hopes he will not be expelled – his father will be so disappointed. And he will fail the family as well, an old line of powerful wizards.

“Excuse me, professor Quirrel. I need Wood, please.” McGonagall  asks, but it sounds more like an order than cannot be refused. She nods once in greeting to the DADA professor and then leads Harry and the boy called Wood to a deserted classroom. “Wood, I found you a seeker.” She says the moment the classroom door is closed and no one can hear them.

After he’s back in the Great Hall, bent down over a new letter to send home, Ron stares at him in disbelief and wonder about the new news. “Seeker? She made you _seeker_ and didn’t take away points? Or give detention? Bloody hell, mate! You’re like… Like the youngest one--”

“In a century. Yeah, Wood told me.” Harry raises his eyes from the parchment and grins wide. Relief was almost choking him now. Relief of not being thrown out of school, of not letting down Sirius and Moody and Regulus. He needs a broom now and he will still do a couple of lines for McGonagall, as a small punishment, but the wonder of being put on the team is far stronger.

The pride he feels in himself is foreign and new. Something Harry still isn’t used to.

The letter is almost done, full of exclamation marks and jumbled-up retell of everything that had happened. Harry adds the anger he feels towards Draco, the words the other throws as easily as breathing and the worry he had felt afterwards. Harry includes a question to Regulus, hesitant and scared, if this was really the best thing to do in order to stand up against the bully.

“So you think this is a reward for breaking the rules? Are you _pleased_ now?” Hermione stands by the table, clutching into a pair of books so thick that her arms barely wrap around them. Her face is twisted in disapproval, her lips bitten red. Harry has yet to properly talk to her, but all she ever does is lecture and go against the things Regulus had told him to be careful of.

Harry frowns, then glances at Ron before turning back to speak with Hermione properly. “I’m not. But I _am_ pleased about not letting Malfoy be a stupid git _and_ for protecting my family’s honor.” He sees Ron nod at his words from the corner of his eyes and continues. “I know you don’t know, or care, about the rules of our society, but family honor is really important, you know.”

“Yeah. Even a blood traitor family like mine won’t stand down when someone insults us. I don’t know about you muggles, but here standing up for yourself is important. So how about you stop being a know-it-all for once and bugger off?” Ron sniffs after he’s done and reaches out for the bowl of potatoes.

“So what? This is a reward for breaking the rules for something _stupid_ like that? I cannot believe this!” Hermione slams the books down on the chair next to her and glares at the both of them.

Harry is starting to get angry now, remembers the way Regulus and his father talked about how important all of these little things were. All the evenings he had spent with the three men and listening to their own stories about the trouble they got in just to stand up for a friend. “It’s not stupid. It’s important, especially for the Noble Houses. My uncle told me so. And me getting in the quidditch team is because I have the talent, not because I broke the rules.”

He turns around and grabs his letter, stands up to leave the Hall. Maybe Sirius will have something to tell him, an advice on how to talk with Hermione after this, or how to not get angry again. But the happy feeling is gone now, replaced by annoyance.

…

Sirius hears about the troll incident through a floo call from McGonagall. His insides freeze solid for a moment, until he remembers how to breathe again. Regulus and Remus are out of the house, each away for work, so it takes a bit longer than normal for the man to get himself together and calm enough to ask questions.

“Is he alright? No injuries, no anything?” Sirius hates the tremble that sneaks in his voice. But he breathes deep and counts to ten, starting to understand what, exactly, has his child been up to this evening. Halloween, _All Hallows Eve_. Ten years ago he lost two important people to a power-obsessed dark wizard on this very day.

His old teacher looks at him with motherly kindness and love as she smiles, “Nothing wrong with your boy, Sirius. He and Ronald Weasley defeated the troll, saved the life of Hermione Granger. You should be proud.” She shakes her head and then adds that all three children have seen Pomfrey and have been sent to bed. On a lighter note, she reminds Sirius of the quidditch match that was soon to happen.

Once he is calm, Sirius takes up a parchment and writes to his son, expressing both his pride for the bravely and loyalty for friends Harry showed, as well worry about the recklessness of taking on a creature that only trained wizards usually took care of. No matter the circumstances, Harry should have caught a professor or a prefect and told them before acting on his own.

But, like Regulus said before, Harry is his son. This was all inherited, obviously. Sirius understands now how James’ parents must have felt when they got letters about their two boys (one taken in and one their own flesh and blood) getting into dangerous trouble. Now he understands the reasons why he was hugged tightly and then grounded for months after pranks gone wrong and run-ins with the creatures of the Forbidden Forest.

Like father, like son.

…

Harry still gets annoyed at Hermione at times, even after the whole troll thing. He wants to push a book about etiquette and wizard rules in the girl’s hands and demand that she reads that, since books followed her wherever she went. But uncle Regulus said that it might not be the best way to introduce someone muggleborn to the rules of their society. It had to be done slowly, with explanations about why some things were done and some things were ignored. It was always hard to get used to a foreign environment.

“No, no, it doesn’t work like that, Hermione. That’s not why I am angry at Malfoy. Nothing to do with _my_ pride.” Harry pulls his legs up and under himself, gets comfortable in the plush chair of the Gryffindor common room. The fire is warm against his wind-swept face, still red from the quidditch practice he has just gotten back from.

The girl huffs, purses her lips and then gives up. She admits defeat and finally, _finally_ asks for an explanation. “So why do you fight with him so much? I tried to find something about this etiquette, but all the books just said something about proper table manners and talking during parties.” Hermione glances over to her bag, where the old tomes are stashed and ready to be brought back to the library.

“You do know that my family is one of the oldest pureblood families around, yeah?” Harry asks first, to find out how much Hermione already knows. At her nod the boy continues, “Well, Malfoy’s mom was my dad’s cousin before she married Malfoy’s dad. So Malfoy is my cousin, like, we’re related. We are kind of one family, but because my dad is Head of House Black and I am his heir, Malfoy needs to respect me, more or less. And my dad as well.”

Ron takes over then, adding his own dose of knowledge about this theme to the conversation. “Malfoy called Harry’s dad a blood traitor and that’s a really bad thing to do to the family Head. It could lead to lots of problems. Harry’s dad could kick them out of the family, or a fight between the families might start. And then it’s all about money and power and all that stuff, pretty complicated things.” He unwraps a licorice wand and breaks it in three pieces, giving one to each of his two friends.

“So… It’s like muggle royal families and such? Isn’t that a little medieval?” Hermione takes a small bite out of her piece of candy and furrows her brows. It’s hard to tell if she is grimacing because of the licorice or if she is deep in thought. “Oh, but the wizard world is a bit behind the times. I guess it makes sense then, when you put it that way.”

Both boys share a look with each other and just shrug.  Harry knows these things, but he can’t really explain them all that good. He just knows what he needs to do and what he needs to be careful of. Regulus did say that sometimes it’s easier to be a muggle-born, and then one can ignore the old rules and plow forward without a second thought about reputation and silly things like that. Afterwards, Remus said that it’s not quite as simple as that for those born in a family with no magic, or one where only one parent was magical.

“Well, as long as you get it.” Harry says is the end, over their licorice of peace. “Oh, by the way, I ran into Snape before practice. His leg was all bloody and torn, just like we thought it was. So he _had_ been to see the dog. I told you.” They have been fighting about the third floor corridor and the three-headed dog for a while now. Just as much as their fight about Snape’s reasons for disliking Harry so much (even if the boy did reply correctly to the questions the professor had asked at their first lecture, all from the lasts pages of their textbook).

Ron exaggerates shuddering and then laughs. “Wish the dog had done more than just a scratch. Shame, really.” He pokes his tongue out and reaches for another licorice wand. The red-head dislikes Snape not for being a strict teacher, but because the professor favorites Malfoy too much, even going as far as forgiving the boy grave mistakes that could lead to serious consequences.

“Oh really, you two. Why would professor Snape be interested in what that beast is guarding? He is a teacher of this school and has better things to do than play fetch with a giant dog. ” Hermione rolls her eyes, but her mouth lifts in a small smile as she watches her friends start a fight over candies. “Additionally, we still don’t even know if the dog is _really_ guarding something. It might just be there for something completely stupid.”

…

For Christmas Harry goes home. He high-fives Ron once they are on the platform 9 ¾, hugs Hermione as a good bye. The three of them had to stop their search for Nicolas Flamel, but Harry promised to search through his own library back at home. Maybe he will ask Remus for help, since the man knows so much about everything and everyone, even more than Sirius and Regulus knew sometimes.

Mrs. Weasley gives Harry a hug as well, thanking him for being such a good friend to Ron. Harry grins wide and tells her Ron is awesome. Hermione is stuck in place, looking at Regulus, who was the one to come and pick up Harry. This wasn’t the first time that someone was a little taken aback by the sophisticated beauty of one of the Black brothers, it happened all the time whenever they left the house. Harry had hoped that it wouldn’t happen with one of his friends, but oh well.

“Uncle Reggie, you’re too handsome.” Harry says while the two of them walk though the busy Central Station. “Even Ron and his mom looked awestruck at you.” Though, Mrs. Weasley had already seen his uncle once already, on the same platform the day he went away for the start of his first semester in Hogwarts.

Regulus just laughs – the sound light and slightly breathless, free in the way it flowed. “I will take that as a compliment, Harry. My brother will be most happy to find out you think I am handsome.” He leads the two of them out of the building and towards the closest wizard alley around. “Sorry to drag you along, Padslet, but we really do need a lot of things. Produce and some late presents included.”

“It’s okay. Can you help me pick out a present for Hermione, please? I tried to order something from the catalogue that Moony sent me, but I don’t understand what she might like best. There were _so many books_.” Harry sighs, glad that Regulus had shrunk his trunk before leaving the platform. “What do girls even like?”

“Who knows. I still do not know myself, but we can look around the bookshop after we are done with everything else. And you can tell me about that fight with the Sorting Hat. Remus was most interested in that, apart from the whole troll fiasco you managed to get into.” Regulus sounds proud when he speaks. Pleased, it seems, about Harry taking on the consequences of his actions (or inactions, as it were) and making sure everyone involved came out alive.

Harry still looks down at his feet, ashamed for what he had done. “Well… The hat couldn’t decide where to put me, you know. It told me I could do well in Slytherin, but then I would be with stupid Malfoy and stupid Snape, so I didn’t want to go there. Sorry uncle Reggie. Anyway, I told the hat that and it then sighed all heavy, just like Moony does when dad breaks one of his things, and told me I might as well go in Gryffindor for being so stubborn.”

They walk inside the butcher’s shop and Regulus seems to be close to laughing again, amused by just how alike to Sirius Harry really is. And that the boy is just as stubborn as Lily had been. “I do not mind you not being Slytherin, Harry. I think if you _were_ put in the same House as your cousin there would be nothing left of Slytherin’s common room. Therefore, your refusal of the hat’s decision was for the best, perhaps.”

That does not mean, however, that Regulus keeps the secret locations and passwords of the Slytherin common room to himself. He may not have been as crazy as the Marauder’s were, but he had done his own fair share of pranks and sneaking out after curfew. Passing on valuable information is both his duty as Harry’s uncle and someone who still held a grudge towards some members of the Malfoy lineage.

…

Harry is the first one up on Christmas morning. He goes to wake up Remus, since the other two members of the Black family did not appreciate being woken up so early (Harry had tried, once before).With a sleepy Remus now next to him, the two make their way downstairs and stand still for a moment to admire the tree.

It glitters in bright yellows and silvers, flaming reds and forest greens mixed in between the needles and candles that just begged to be lighted. They had thought about adding muggle lights this year, but electricity didn’t work well in magical houses and there was no use in the colorful bulbs if they didn’t work. Sirius and Regulus loved the traditional and simple way the most, anyway. The kind of Christmas that they could only enjoy in Hogwarts, not in their own home, with enchanted ice animals crawling along the branches and soft candlelight making everything look warm and welcoming.

Remus goes about making himself warm tea while Harry digs through his pile of presents. The top ones are from Hermione and Ron (a book about broom-making history and a box full of different kinds of sweets, together with a soft sweater made by the boy’s mom), under those he finds presents from Sirius, Remus and Regulus. He examines the books about protection spells that come from Remus and Sirius (a joint present) and then moves on to the notebooks, where in Regulus’ tidy and beautiful cursive there are notes about wizard customs, stuff that Harry still didn’t know.

“Oh, you have a big haul this year, I see. Together with the broom.” Remus comes to sit next to Harry on the floor, his cup of tea floats in the air before the two of them. His eyes roam over the new reading material, pausing to take in Regulus’ neatly taken notes. “You will have something to study now, in addition to everything else.” The man laughs while leafing through one of the notebooks.

“Yeah, but I already know most of the stuff they teach us. Cause of you and uncle Reggie and dad. But I like to use magic, especially on Malfoy when he annoys me.” Harry crawls over to the tree and picks up the last gift with his name on it. The wrapping is a simple brown one, nothing fancy, with a card on top. _Your godfather gave it to me, it’s due time I pass it on,_ the card reads and Harry frowns down at it. “Moony, I don’t know who this is from.”

Remus pauses in opening Harry’s small gift to him (a nice pair for wooly socks the boy had ordered through the same catalogue Remus himself had sent him) to reach out for the card and package. He frowns at the note and then hums quietly, eyebrows furrowed in thought. “It’s safe. Just that… Well, never mind for now. Want to open this yourself?” As he watches Harry shake his head in a no – the boy knew well enough to leave strange things for his guardians to check – Remus carefully unwraps the brown paper and takes out the simmering black cloak.

“What is that?” Harry crawls to sit in front of Remus, eyes wide in wonder. He has only read about cloaks that looked like this in the story books, or heard about them from one of the stories Remus or Sirius told him before bed sometimes. The piece of clothing seemed to simmer, move as if it were liquid not made of cloth. Magic, it looked as if it were made from magic itself. So beautiful.

Remus slides his fingers over it. A far-away look settles on his face, his eyes water just slightly, like they did when he and Sirius had met for the first time after so many years. “This belonged to Prongs, James. We’ve told you about him already, Harry. His invisibility cloak. I’ve worn this many times when still in school. It’s been years since I last saw it.” He hands it over to Harry after a moment and smiles, a little sad around the edges. “He would have been happy to pass it on to you.”

Harry stares at it with even more wonder now, that he knows just how important is the cloak in his hands. The moment is slightly ruined when they hear footsteps on the stairs and Harry, with a grin on his lips, wraps himself in the invisibility cloak. Remus encourages him with a hint of his own mischief shining through the tears unshed and pretends to drink the tea, now gone cold.

…

“I found the Flamel guy in one of uncle Reggie’s books, I have it with me. Pretty cool guy if you ask me.” Harry slides the said book over to Hermione and Ron as he talks. “He made a thing called Philosopher’s Stone and then some other alchemy stuff with Dumbledore.” It had been a delicate operation to get Regulus to let him take the book back to school, since alchemy was not one of Harry’s interests. The boy had said that Hermione was curious about the subject, in the end.

Ron squints at the pictures. “Looks pretty young to me, for someone over a hundred.” He pulls the books a little bit closer, but leaves enough to Hermione as the girl quickly reads through the lines of text about the Stone and what it had to do with alchemy and fame. “Eternal life must be pretty boring. Especially when it depends on some ruddy rock so much.”

“You only find it boring because the only thing you are interested in food, Ron. Food, chess and quidditch.” Hermione looks up from the book and glances at the two boys. “I think we can be pretty sure that it’s the stone that the dog is guarding. Nothing else that Flamel has done is important enough to be guarded like that.” Her eyes move back to the book, bottom lip pulled between her teeth in thought.

“So, Snape wants to steal the stone.” Harry leans back against his chair and fumbles with the metallic bracelet that is still clasped around his wrist. The cursive glints back at him, illuminated by the glow of the candles. “But it’s not easy to get it, right? Hagrid said some of the professors made the protection for it… Though, if Snape was one of those teachers then it doesn’t matter much.”

Ron yawns, clearly done with thinking about the mysteries of the school for the day. He lays his upper body on the desk and sighs, tired despite the day not being one of the most active ones. “As long as Dumbledore is here nothing will happen anyway. No use in worrying about that. What I am more interested in is that stupid essay for Quirrell. I bet it will smell like garlic when we get it back, _ugh_.”

“It always does. Just because he was scared by some stupid vampire when he was off doing whatever he was doing in—where was he anyway? Alabama?” Harry huffs as well at the wrinkled parchment that was supposed to be his draft, but never made it further than a title and a few doodles of vampires.

“ _Albania_.” Hermione has moved away from Flamel and is now immersed in whatever else was written in the book. Harry had already read it on the way back to Hogwarts. “And garlic doesn’t work against vampires, those are just muggle stories. As a DADA teacher he really should know that. Honestly. And you have quidditch to worry about, no?”

…

 “So, let me get this straight. You smuggled a dragon hatchling out of the country?” Remus puts his clasped hands in his lap and directs a stern gaze towards Harry. He had worried about Harry’s safety first, then came the anger that every parental figure (except, Remus thinks, Sirius) felt towards their charge endangering themselves in some way. But after all that, had come the pride of a Marauder - the younger generation is living up to the legacy they had left behind.

Regulus has his face in his hands, shoulders shaking with quiet laughter. Sirius looks proud of his offspring’s adventures (although, the getting caught part was a letdown of sorts), but there is a twitch in his fingers that speaks of a lecture in the making anyway. Marauder ways or no, a dragon was too dangerous, too risky for a few first years to take care of.

Harry is looking down on his shoes, forehead furrowed and bottom lip bitten red. “We just carried Norbert to the Astronomy tower. Because we wanted to help Hagrid.” He looks up, eyes traveling from one of his guardians to the other, “Are you gonna yell at me too?” His voice is barely above a whispers this time, his shoulders hunched forward and eyes a little too bright to be anything else but unshed tears.

Sirius gets up the second those words leave his son’s mouth and kneels in front of the child. “Shhh, we won’t yell at you. But we were really worried when Minnie, uh, your professor let us know about what you did. As much as I am proud that you are so much like me when I was young, I am also worried about you getting hurt, pup. And so is Reggie and Moony, for that matter.” The damage done by the Dursleys is not something that is easy to erase and forget, he knows. His own past had been one of abuse.

“Okay.” Harry’s voice is still too quiet, but he leans into the hug that Sirius offers him and breathes in the scent of home and safety that envelops him together with his father. Once he pulls back he looks at Regulus and Remus, both men look equally relieved about how the events had turned out to be and smile back at Harry.”I’m sorry I did something stupid. Professor McGonagall already took fifty points from each of us and then gave us detention with Hagrid. In the forest and everything. It was really creepy there.” He doesn’t let go of Sirius though, his fingers continue to clutch onto the sleeve of his father’s cloak.

Remus furrows his eyebrows and looks out the windows of the classroom, his gaze on the Forbidden Forest. “They let you go in there? That’s not a good place for detention.” His shoulders tense for a moment, a far-away look settles on his face. It’s the same kind of look that Harry has seen on Sirius’ face whenever they talk about his school days and sometimes _Wormtail_ slips past his lips and his father pulls back into himself and grows quiet. Harry doesn’t like that look.

“Did something happen, in the forest?” Regulus gets up from his own seat and comes to kneel in front of Harry as well, his hands warm and gentle as they settle on the boys shoulders. He does this whenever Harry is too afraid to confess about a nightmare or a memory that has taken him by surprise and left the boy trembling and scared.

Harry nods slowly and then glances at Sirius and Remus (who has moved from his own seat as well and stands guard over all of them) and fiddles a little with his fingers. “When we were there I saw this… black shadow thing. It was drinking unicorn blood and then it started to come towards me. And my scar started to hurt. And then Firenze came and helped me out.” He breathes in deep, as if he had run a lot and was out of breath. “Firenze said it was Voldemort, that shadow thing.”

Regulus’ hold on his shoulders tightens and fear sweeps over the three men. Sirius holds Harry hands in his, squeezes far too tight to be comfortable but Harry lets him. It’s a good reminder that they were here, with him. Not an illusion. Remus is pale, his eyes wide and body stiff. Gold flashes in his eyes for a moment and he turns to look at the forest once more.

“No more going in the forest, even if it is for a detention.” Sirius breathes out, finally. Protectiveness echoes in every move and sound he makes, a carnivore set on making sure his child is safe. “Nothing will get to you, pup. The three of us will keep you safe.” His big hand on top of Harry’s head feels safe and calming.

…

“Explain to me how Voldemort managed to live _months_ under your nose while he possessed a teacher, of all people. _A sodding teacher_.” Sirius snarls, eyes a reflection of the wildfire that roared within. With Harry still asleep in the infirmary and Remus keeping watch he no longer worries about his son’s safety, but the implication of what could have been and just how grave the situation could have turned out turn his insides into ice even now.

Regulus is a quiet presence behind his brother. He’s silent, thinking – calculating and working things out just like he had done while in school. A dangerous Slytherin, once the shackles of his parents’ expectations had been torn off from him. Even before this incident he was the one to reveal to Sirius that Dumbledore had not honored the will of the mother and father, nor had he tried to find out the truth behind the tragedy of the night when James and Lily died. Even a fair trial for his convicted brother had not happened, not even when the old wizard had it in his powers (as well as the knowledge needed) to make sure it was carried out.

Dumbledore doesn’t look bothered by the two Blacks standing before him. With long fingers the wizard pokes the muggle candies in front of him and picks one up to put in his mouth. “I had it all taken care of, Sirius. And young Regulus. There was no danger to Harry’s life, I assure you.” He says instead of something else, an explanation or reasons for why this had happened.

“ _No dang_ \--- My son faced bloody Voldemort not a few hours ago! He’s injured and unconscious in the hospital wing right now and you call that no danger to his life?” Sirius isn’t yelling. His voice is controlled, calm. The words, however, are sharp and rumble low in his throat – like a dog about to attack whoever had dared to anger it. Magic vibrates around him as if it is alive, ready to move on order.

Regulus is no exception of the Black temper, the Black magic that flows through their blood.

“My boy, calm down. Have a seat, both of you.” Dumbledore smiles and his eyes twinkle behind the half-moon glasses. It feels so wrong on the old man’s face, as if the expression is stolen from someone else and forced upon the wizard with threats, glued on with no permission. “Young Harry was very brave today, as were his friends. You should be proud of him.” Avoidance. Ignorance.

Regulus exhales loudly and all the windows in the room shatter; pieces of glass fly through the air and form a wall behind him. His body screams the same kind of disgust and fury as it had when the man picked up his nephew from the muggles. Sunlight reflects from the glass shards as they hover around him, poised to attack. “You _dare_ to pretend nothing is wrong. You _dare_ to ignore the safety of my family and requests for an explanation. _Speak_ , Dumbledore. Now.”

Sirius still stands before the headmaster (the old man no longer smiles, a certain kind of fear and worry now sweep over the wrinkled skin), doesn’t move. He knows he will not be harmed. “A simple locked door is all that protected the children from a Cerberus. You _knew_ about the damned possession; don’t even dare to lie to me, and you left everything as it is. Perhaps old Lucy is right and you’re not fit for this job  anymore.”

“Everything was done with my knowledge, that is true. However, it had to be done for the sake of your own child, Sirius. Nothing would have happened to Harry, as I already said before. It was all for the sake of the greater good.” Dumbledore waves his hand through the air, as if to chase away something bothersome and unwanted. He ignores the glass shards pointed at himself. “Harry was protected during the whole process, as he was with Petunia and her family. I still do not support your decision to just take the boy out of the house without my knowledge or permission, Regulus. Very irresponsible indeed.” He scolds the two men in front of him instead of admitting mistakes. How familiar, this setting.

“Protected? In that place with those vile muggles?” Regulus hisses through his teeth and the shards sway together with his anger as he speaks. “ _Protected_ while he was in the company with the Dark Lord? And the rest of the children? Were they protected as well, from the Dark Lord _or_ the Cerberus?” With anger like this the young Black reminded so much of Orion, with the way he turned uncaring about the one who stood against him. “I do not need your permission to collect my nephew. He is my family and you are _nothing_ to him.”

Sirius looks back at his brother, a silent dialogue of two brothers who think of the same thing, who feel the same thing. A bond stronger than anything else. He nods and looks back at the headmaster, glares at the old man before him. “If you ever again allow something like this, we will destroy you. We will pull Harry out of this school the second he gets hurt for your blasted greater good and I _will_ make sure you feel the anger of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black on yourself for endangering my son once more.”

 The two brothers leave; shattered glass flies towards Dumbledore and stabs the bookshelves behind the man and some fall on the stone floor. Their threat a reminder of the power, magical and political, that hides behind the way of _toujours pur_.

…

Regulus looks down on the list that the three of them have made, taps his lips with the black quill in his hands and then adds another object right under _something of Ravenclaw_.

Once they had returned back home from Hogawarts, Harry finally awake but disoriented and worried about Ron and Hermione still, Sirius had asked the boy to tell them everything about what had happened in the secret rooms down below. Once the story reached Quirrell and Voldemort, the boy had to stop and take small breaths to calm down.

There had been so many questions about who and why. Reasons, guarded so long came to light (but Harry already knew, he had heard them during Sirius’ trial already), but now there was the sharp intake of pain and wounds still unhealed muddled up with the hatred towards the Dark Lord. Sirius’ struggles against what his family had expected of him, of the fight and worry that followed every day of the war – the terror in finding out the destroyed home of his friends and then being forced to repent for crimes he had not done.

Regulus’ sins. His duty as the new head of the family, as the perfect son and true Black, that forced him to take on the mark of the Death Eater. _A cattle brand, nothing more_ he whispers into the quiet room and covers the revealed tattoo with his hand. And yet, in the end, his weakness had taken over and he fled from both his family and Voldemort, ran far away to try and find repentance for the mistakes he had been pushed into doing.

Remus is quieter about his time during the war. His stories have the werewolf packs woven through them, new scars and blood he had shed for a cause that had seemed to be just and right. But the seed of doubt and treason had been one that roots quickly and feeds off the suspicion and distrust towards people. His regret and blind faith, born out of the dept owned and old stories passed along from father to child about the power and rightness of Dumbledore, had made the perfect soil for abandonment and distrust towards his friends. Truly, regret is Remus’ own brand of poison.

Harry sleeps now, exhausted still and processing the stories. Perhaps they had been too quick in revealing all of this, but with Voldemort once again a danger looming in the distance it was better that their small charge knew the true story of Halloween that ended it all. Sirius watches over his little boy, cradled in Remus’ lap for comfort and safety. They will keep him safe.

“So… You said Voldemort has a horcrux.” Sirius reaches out to slide strands of hair away from Harry’s face. His fingers tremble just slightly ( _a reminder of Azkaban_ ).

His brother places the quill on the parchment and sags in his seat. Exhaustion takes over. He had so hoped that after the medallion someone else had taken care of the rest. But, as it stands, nothing has been done so far. “Six. I believe he had six, from what I have heard him say. Five, now, since I destroyed the medallion.” It had been hard to find a way to do so, but years abroad and on the run gave him the time to research.

“I know what it is and can guess how it’s made. But to destroy one… I imagine something powerful is needed.” Remus looks towards the bookshelves, forehead furrowed in thought as he goes over every leather-bound tome he has about Dark Magic and rituals that have been thought of as inhuman and immoral since long ago. “Did you find out how to get rid of one, Reg?”

“Basilisk venom, phoenix fire and fiendfyre. The creator can destroy it with whatever spell that is powerful enough. I managed to find someone with a phoenix close to rebirthing and got rid of the medallion. Killing them them aside, we will need to find the rest first.” Regulus already knows he will need to go over the memories he has of his times as a Death Eater, the ones where he speaks with Voldemort. He does not look forward to doing so, but the life of Harry is too important for him. For all of them.

Sirius turns and smiles at his brother. Sadness, there is sadness and thankfulness reflected in his whole body as he speaks. “We will find them, Reggie. Me, you and Moony here, we will put that asshole in his place and get rid of his damned horcuxes. You don’t have to do it alone this time.” A promise and reassurance, a pact between the three of them. For a better future.

For Harry’s sake and their own– they will do it.


	3. Year Two

Harry is holding onto Sirius’ hand as they walk the dirt path towards The Burrow. The sky is still dark as dawn approaches slowly, Harry still not quite awake for chatter and admiring the scenery of open fields and quiet countryside. A few chickens run past them, somewhere far ahead a dog howls into the stillness of the early morning.

“Behave, okay? I don’t want to hear Molly complaining about you when I come to pick you up in a few days.” Sirius says before they reach the crooked house. The Weasleys had invited Harry for a bit of summer fun at their house, something that the boy had been quite looking forward to. “You got the money for treats? And present for Molly? Be polite, like Reggie taught you.”

“Oka---ay.” Harry yawns in the middle of the word. He jiggles his backpack a little, to show that he has everything safely packed inside of it – money and gift included. “I won’t cause trouble. Fred and George do that enough for all of us, Ron said.”

With that out of the way, Sirius nods and knocks on the wooden door, to let everyone awake know they are here. They don’t have to wait long for shuffling sounds to reach them and then the door is yanked open and Molly beams at the two of them with a wide smile. “Harry! Sirius. It’s good to see you two. Thought you would be here bit later, but no worries! Breakfast will be done soon.” Her enthusiasm shines through the few leftovers of sleep clinging onto Harry.

“Morning Molly. I just came to drop this one off. Have to get going now. Things to take care of, you know. Have fun then. Write, or ask Molly and Arthur to help you floo home, if something is wrong.” Sirius grins and ruffles the black mess of a hair on top of Harry’s head. With another cheerful greeting to Molly he then apparates away with a quick _pop_.

Harry is ushered inside the house, asked to take off his trainers and then shown to a cozy little kitchen, where pots and pans are working on their own to prepare a good breakfast meal. Harry sets his backpack on one of the mismatched chairs placed around the dining table and pulls out the carefully wrapped package of some sort of sweets that Regulus had given him yesterday evening. _It is a thank you gift, Harry, for letting you stay with them and for taking care of you_ , his uncle had said.

“Mrs. Weasley. Uhm, thank you for inviting me to stay over.” Harry offers her the gift, a small smile on his lips. He should have said a lot more before offering something, but the boy didn’t remember all of the phrases this early in the morning, nor would Mrs. Weasley like such posh way of doing things. Probably. “Uncle Reggie thought you might like these.” He adds to explain.

Mrs. Weasley takes the package from him and smiles, gentle and caring – motherly. “Thank you, Harry dear. That’s very kind and polite of you. I’m glad Ron has you for a friend, that boy should learn some manners.” She laughs and reaches out to smooth down some of the wilder strands of Harry’s hair.

Something warm bubbles inside of the boy. Some sort of pride for being praised by someone outside of his family for being _himself_. It’s a good feeling and Harry clings to it throughout the whole morning while he watches Mrs. Weasley bustle around the kitchen and waits for Ron and his siblings to wake up. First ones up and about are Fred and George, who grin wildly and pull him upstairs and into their room for entertainment and funny stories about Ron.

…

Harry meets up with Sirius and Regulus in front of Flourish and Blott, the Weasley family right on the boy’s heels. The father and son hug, Regulus simply gives his nephew a quick pat on the back and a _had fun, Padslet_? before he turns back to a smiling Mrs. Weasley and a wide-eyed Ginny to greet them properly. The introductions are quick and end with Sirius giving Fred and George a quick thumbs up behind their mother’s back for all the pranks the two have played while in school.

The bookshop is overcrowded and full of squealing witches of all ages. There is a lot of screaming and pushing, the older women swear as the younger girls wind through the crowd to get closer to whatever is going on in the back of the shop. Mrs. Weasley soon joins the crowd, pulls Ginny along with her and leaves the rest of her family behind to get their things. Regulus eyes the mass of angry (and yet, at the same time, excited and swooning) females and steers his brother and Harry up to the second floor.

“Merlin’s sweaty balls, _ignore that one pup_ , what is going on here today? It’s as if they have all seen a naked Leroy Adair.” Sirius looks over the railing, down at the sea of pointy hats in bright colors that keeps on moving. He shudders, pulls away and then leads Harry to a stand of books meant for charms and hexes.

Regulus holds in his hands what is supposed to be the Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook this year. Harry stares at his uncle as the man sneers at the bright blue covers of one of Lockhart’s books; the man on the cover at it keeps winking and tossing his curly hair back. “Sadly, it is not an attractive swords master that is keeping the ladies occupied right now, Sirius. It is the author of these horrible, _horrible_ books giving away autographs and such.” He throws the book back on the shelf and shoots it one last glare. “We will _not_ be buying Harry this garbage. Waste of money.”

Sirius grabs a potions textbook and passes it on to his son to hold while he leafs through _Wanderings with Werewolves_. “Yeah, this is utter shit. Looks more like a storybook rather than a textbook… Seems to be just as useful as well.” Without a second look he walks away, deeper into the shop’s second floor to try and find a transfiguration textbook.

“Lords Black and young Heir as well. What an unexpected meeting, I must say.” A voice interrupts Sirius and Regulus arguing about whether or not Harry should also get a book on practical jokes (the boy himself long since has wandered off to look though the comic books). A brief look of unmasked disgust shifts on Lucius Malfoy’s face before the man carefully locks it away and puts on the kind of fake smile that Petunia Dursley would find excellent.

The air changes and both Black brothers straighten out and adopt their own stances of power and status. Aristocrats, the both of them. They fit into the roles easily, as if breathing, and show nothing in their body language. Harry straightens out himself, but stays behind the two men. He doesn’t want to do something out of place, so he keeps his mouth closed and gives only a polite nod towards his distant relative.

“Lucius, a pleasure.” Sirius says but his tone makes it obvious that it is everything but. The way Lucius’ own son had acted towards Harry (and the things that the pale boy had said in reference to the Black family, be it about Sirius or another member) was reason enough to accuse the Malfoys of dishonoring their own family and the Head of House. Heavy crimes in the eyes of pureblood society. “Came by to apologize for your son’s foul mouth?”

Regulus doesn’t even give his brother the look ( _act like a Lord, brother_ ) since his own dislike towards the man in front of him, paired up with the knowledge of what Lucius had done during their time together in the ranks of Death Eaters, was enough to forget about being polite and proper. The likes of this man did not deserve to be treated like an equal by a Black. If not for what he had done (although, in the eyes of the pureblood rules Lucius only honored everything that those of pure blood stood for), then for how he had treated his own Head of House.

The Malfoy Head stiffens, looks down on Sirius over his nose. The walking stick held by his long, slim fingers taps once against the worn wood of the shop and Lucius’ gaze slides over to the side, lands on Draco. “I was not… informed that my son has said something against the House Black.” He says instead of something else, tone deadly cold. “I do, however, offer apologies for whatever he has said to your son, Lord Black. Draco has _clearly_ forgotten his manner lessons.” A promise of punishment slithers between the words and Harry can see color staining Draco’s cheeks.

“In that case, he better well remember them. I don’t fancy myself being called a blood traitor by some snot-nosed kid, especially one connected to my own House.” Sirius smiles without humor. Quickly he gathers all of the new textbooks and places a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “We will be going then. Malfoy.” He doesn’t nod or do anything else to acknowledge Lucius.

As they leave, Harry looks up at Regulus and wonders once again about how it had been for the man to be a part of Voldemort’s followers. And how it feels now, when all of his old friends might as well be enemies. _Must be lonely_ , he thinks just as they make their way down the road.

…

The train ride back to Hogwarts is not completely eventless, like it had been last year.

Just as Harry tries to push through the barrier to get to the platform 9 ¾ he hits solid wall, some of his things fall off the cart and on the ground; clothes spill out from the trunk that has opened from the impact. A moment of panic fills him ( _what if I can’t get on the train now, what if I never get there, how can dad find me now, what about---_ ) before it’s calmed by a strong hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t worry, Harry. Everything’s fine.” Remus then bends down to pick up some of the fallen things. Harry had forgotten that the werewolf has been behind him the whole time, guarding the back and making sure nothing goes wrong and no one tries to get too close to the Boy-Who-Lived. It was a security system that the three men of the Black family had developed some time ago.

He holds onto the cart as Remus leads him away, throws worried glances over his shoulder at the wall that his dad had gone through just before him. “Moony, what happened? It has never done that, right?” Harry worries his bottom lip between his teeth and looks up to his uncle for some kind of an explanation to the whole situation. Remus always knew all the answers to the questions that Harry had, always knew why things happened the way they did. “Will dad make it back out?”

“Dad’s already made it back out, pup.” Sirius’ bark-like laugh cuts through the chaos of the muggle part of the train station and he grins wide when Harry stares at him with mouth slightly parted. “Apparted right back out when I didn’t see you two following me. I’m just glad Moons here was with you, otherwise those would be a few panic-filled minutes for me.”

Sirius then takes Harry as a side-along back to the platform from a rather deserted part of the station, with Remus bringing with him the boy’s luggage and owl. The rest of the time goes along smoothly, until the Weasleys show up and Ron doesn’t stop asking Sirius about how it is to be an auror and a Lord at the same time. Harry doesn’t quite understand why it matters, being a Lord, but decides not to question his friend on these things.

…

Harry walks to his first DADA class of the year. He frowns at the group of girls before him as they all giggle about the new professor ( _don’t listen to a thing he teaches you, Harry, remember Remus’ lessons and stick with those_ ) and hopes that he will be ignored in class. Regulus had warned him in this morning’s letter about Lockhart’s need for fame and attention, about the author taking advantage of everything famous and exploitable that came his way.

The Boy Who Lived, heir of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black – Harry was one of the most famous wizards in his country, maybe even world (for surviving the Avada Kedavra, not defeating a Dark Lord known only on English soil). A tool for Lockhart, served on a silver platter.

“Ah, welcome! Welcome, little second years, in my humble classroom!” Lockhart greets them all as they walk in, his gaze follows the students as they take their seats and set his own books on the tables. He puffs up, flashes the teeth that seem too white to be real. “Good, you all have my books, I see. Wonderful, wonderful! I am _sure_ you already know who I am. The previous classes must be quite proud to be first to gossip about my marvelous self!”

Harry pats a lock of black hair above his scar and sinks lower in his seat. He only has quill and parchment before him, none of the professor’s books. Ron had agreed to share his, if needed (Hermione had been close to lecturing Harry until the boy told her she was not his parent; _and it was dad who refused to buy them for me anyway, now lay off Hermione_ ). For now, he stays quiet and listens to Lockhart go on and on about his prizes and adventures, about his favorite colors and types of flowers. About the monsters he has defeated and saved villages from.

These stories sound like fairytales to Harry.

“---Black, Harry. Oh my, oh dear! I see you have your own celebrity in class.” Harry looks up at the sound of his own name, having lost himself in the world of thoughts and things to do for other classes. Lockhart is looking at him; head tilted to one side a bit and smile sharp, calculating. “Oh Harry, my boy, I have been _wanting_ to meet you for so long! Share my experiences with you and offer my guidance, as you surely know already, I _have_ my fare share of experience with the Dark Arts and the like!”

Harry frowns again, throws a look at Ron. His friend looks confused. Blinking slowly he once more pays attention to Lockhart (the man has been talking all this time, about pictures and how he understands that Harry might feel over-shadowed when someone _better_ than him is walking through these corridors now. But Harry is twelve and couldn’t care less). It almost seems like his reply is not needed, not that Harry wishes to give one. He catches Hermione’s eyes and the girl looks envious. _Oh, please_.

“Ah! Had I been there, young Harry, the night when You-Know-Who attacked, I would have saved you and your family! Alas, fear not! I am always free for special lessons on how to best fight against Dark Magic.” Lockhart rambles on and there is something about his words makes Harry so _angry_. Sirius’ grief, Remus’ fear and guilt, Regulus’ pain and suffering – it’s as if Lockhart is trying to erase the true horror of the war with a bunch of fancy words and nothing else.

Fame seeker indeed.

With his teeth gritted together in anger Harry stands up and packs up his things, ignores the surprised looks of his classmates and the teacher before him. “My apologies, professor, but I will not need private sessions. As Heir of House of Black, I know enough about Dark Magic on my own. Excuse me.” Not a lie – Sirius and Regulus had tutored him in both Light and Dark magic. As a precaution for what might happen in the future.

He leaves the classroom. Doesn’t look back. He doesn’t intend to return, not as long as Lockhart is the one teaching it.

…

Regulus is the one who comes to the meeting with McGonagall. Harry knows that Sirius is somewhere in Romania, doing research work for something, but that doesn’t stop the needy feeling of _wanting_ his father near. Regulus’ hand on his back is just as wide and warm, though. The man’s presence just as _safe_ and _there_ , that Harry calms down soon enough.

“I understand that something happened in one of his classes, professor?” Regulus speaks first, doesn’t pull his hand away. He doesn’t look worried. There is a quiet kind of _I know what happened_ air around the man and Harry can’t help but wonder if his uncle isn’t a sort of a seer, even if a little bit. Or he just knows Harry too well.

McGonagall pushes the bowl with cookies their way and then folds her aged hands before her on the desk. “That is correct. Mr. Black left his class abruptly and has informed me that he doesn’t wish to continue it anymore. I’ve heard his reasons, however, I would rather this decision is taken with a guardian present.” She isn’t angry, nor was she particularly surprised when Harry had come to her. Perhaps a little disappointed at something. “Defense Against the Dark Arts is the class Mr. Black wishes to drop.” The professor adds quietly.

Regulus looks down on Harry, the corners of his lips twitch up in a small smile. “With that bumbling idiot Lockhart? Well, I can guess why it had come to this so soon. More or less.” The man sighs, reaches out to try and calm the mess of hair on Harry’s head. “Did he say something to you?” In the end Regulus asks, for now leaving the matter at hand for afterwards. Some things were more important.

“He said—Well, he said that if he had been there, when… when Voldemort attacked mom and, and uncle James, neither of them would have… _you know_ , died. And he made it seem like, like what dad, Moony and you have been through is almost meaningless.” Harry whispers the words so quietly, afraid that he might have reacted too quickly, too harshly. Maybe he had been reading too much into these things and Lockhart had meant none of them. “Told me he will teach me stuff about Dark Magic and guide me. I don’t know. I just got so angry. At him.”

Harry looks up to his uncle, unsure of what Regulus might think about what had happened. And truly, the aristocrat has his eyes narrowed and looks quite furious. But as soon as he notices Harry looking, Regulus takes a breath to calm down and his face is carefully neutral. Once more he reaches out to smooth down the wild strand of his nephew’s hair before turning back to the Gryffindor Head. Harry didn’t notice before, but McGonagall’s eyebrows are furrowed in the same way they do when she is particularly displeased about something. It was the same kind of look she made when she had caught a couple of Rawenclaw sixth years levitating three Slytherin third years.

“That won’t be enough of a reason to drop the class, as you know, Mister Black. We can, however, either warn Lockhart about what he can and cannot speak about in the presence of your nephew, or have young Black do self-study. Of course, it depends on what he wants to do.” McGonagall’s face softens as she speaks, her eyes on Harry the entire time. She may be stern, but the old professor stood by her little Lions anytime.

Regulus thinks over these choices and then glances down on Harry. “I, and by extension my brother, would like Harry to stay with the rest of the students of his year. However, would it be possible for me to have a few words with this _professor_?” The glint in his eyes is the same kind that Sirius got while he was in the middle of a particularly good prank. Harry is sure that whatever his uncle will do, the results will be long-lasting.

“Of course. Knowing your family for as long as I have, I wouldn’t have expected anything else.” McGonagall laughs as she speaks. Her own expression shows amusement and knowledge that the youngest of the two Black brothers was up to something.

…

“Lockhart, I presume?” Regulus enters the DADA professor’s private rooms, his gaze slowly goes over the countless posters hung on the walls that were winking at him. He stops, schools his expression in an empty indifference. How low had the standards sunken to allow someone like this to teach? Unbelievable.

Perhaps, he and Sirius can talk Remus into considering working here (despite his lycanthropy, which can be taken care of easily enough now). Their hunt for the shards of Voldemort’s soul was a slow one, as first they needed to narrow down the objects Voldemort might have used before setting out to destroy them. Which was another problem all on its own. However, Regulus believes that the three of them will be able to solve it. Best of their generation, they were, after all.

“Yes, yes! Indeed I am!” Lockhart twirls away from the mirror, brilliant white smile in place and the charms turned up to the max. The Lavender robes billow around him before they settle down and the professor opens up his arms wide, as if asking Regulus to run to him. “And who you would be? A fan, I wonder? Would not be the first time a fellow man comes looking for advice or something… _more_. Not to worry, my friend, don’t be shy!” He throws a wink at Regulus for extra measure, causing shivers to run down the aristocrat’s spine.

Regulus takes a deep breath to try and calm down. _The nerve to imply_ \---! Never before had he been treated like this, never before such disgust had crawled under his skin. Perhaps, it could only rivaled by Voldemort and the deeds the Dark wizard had made him do. “I am Regulus Black, of Most Ancient and Noble House of Black. Surely, you do not think that it is wise to speak to me in such a manner.” His voice is steel and ice as Regulus speaks. “I have come to speak with you about my nephew, Harry. And because of what you have said to him about his family.”

He waits until the words have made proper impact on the pompous moron, even the posters have quieted down and some are now mysteriously empty of their resident, before saying more. Only when Lockhart pales and opens his mouth to say something, perhaps to try and attempt something as foolish as defending what he had done or try and worm his way out of this mess ( _worm out, hah_ ), Regulus silences him with a single raised palm. Who would have known? The fool knew to keep his mouth shut when he stood before a member of an Ancient and Noble House.  Perhaps there was a brain under the puffed up golden hair.

“I will warn you once. Try and do something to my nephew, say _anything_ disrespectful towards him, his parents or friends of family and you will be sorry. If not for what I will do to you, then my brother will surely be creative in exacting his rage towards you.” A sneer paints his face ugly in the way his mother had looked when speaking about blood traitors and filth of society. Madness passed down the Black bloodline, that’s what it was. “And if you will _dare_ to imply me searching you out for the purpose of having a one-off one more time, your end may just come sooner than you think. Thank the stars I do not wish to dirty my hands today.”

Regulus laughs in Lockhart’s face and turns around to leave. There was no backbone to be found in the laughingstock of a man before him, therefore there was no need to do anything else than let his promises hang in the air. Harry will no longer be in danger of being used as this man’s toy and there will be no useless claims coming out of Lockhart’s mouth – his job was done here.

…

Things returned back to normal after that incident.

After the talk with Regulus, Lockhart stays away from Harry – be it in class or outside of it. It’s the kind of peace that the boy enjoys and he uses the time to read the books Remus had given him, instead of the ridicule that was the autobiographies of the new professor. Hermione is the only one who seems to think that what had happened between Lockhart and Harry was, in some way, wrong and that the blond man was only trying to help (Harry not having his books was a whole another conversation, one that left the two to stew in an angry silence).

Harry doesn’t care what she thinks, not when Lockhart is concerned. Too much of her loyalty towards the man is because of his good looks and charm used to confuse and manipulate. He does not say as such to the girl, but once more points out that it is not Hermione’s place to lecture and tell him about his place, what he can and cannot do.

It’s close to Halloween ( _as usual_ , a small part of Harry whispers) when things go wrong.

Harry meets up with his two friends after a Deathday Party spent with Sir Nickolas, an arrangement that the boy did not wish to discuss despite the importance and rarity that Hermione insisted it possesses. The three of them walk though the empty hallways towards the Great Hall, in a hurry to make it to at least the end of it. After a turn on one of the second floor corridors there are puddles flooding the floor and the candle lights flicker for no reason. It’s cold. Foreboding.

“Something is really, _really_ off here. I hope Filch doesn’t catch us wandering about.” Ron mutters to himself, looks down on his soaking wet shoes with a wrinkled nose. Wet socks were something that no one wanted to deal with, especially in creepy situations like this one. “Think someone blew up a bathroom again? Or another troll?”

Hermione pulls up her robes a little to try and protect them from the water. “It’s probably Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom again. Yuck, my clothes will smell like sewer now.” She huffs and raises her eyes to look down the hallway. The water seemed to continue on, as far as she could see. The girl hopes that bathroom mishaps won’t become a yearly thing.

“Let’s just go, before we are caught. I don’t want to serve detention because a ghost decided to flood the place again.” Harry starts to walk down the corridor, the splash of water echoing with every step the boy takes. Once he gets closer to the two torches that are still shining bright he stops, however, and looks wide-eyed at the wall.

“What’s wrong, mate? Why did you…. Stop…” Ron carries the same kind of look of surprise as Harry, his hand reaching out to grab onto Hermione’s shoulder for some small support. “The Chamber of Secrets has been opened; enemies of the heir… beware. What, what is this?” The boy’s voice is barely above a whisper and it trembles ever so slightly. His hold on Hermione’s shoulder grows stronger, panicked.

For once the girl has nothing to say. Her eyes travel over the letters written in blood and then slide down the wall to land on the still form of Filch’s cat. “Is… is the cat.. dead?” She whispers just as quietly as Ron had, takes a step back to be a bit further away from the scene. Even after what had happened last year, she still feels fear trickle through her like a slowly spreading disease.

Harry breathes slowly. Tries to. Something isn’t right. He freezes when he starts to hear whispers coming from the walls, quiet and emotionless, begging for something to kill. _Want to kill. Want to tear_. Over and over again it repeats the same thing, as the voice moves closer and then further away again. He remembers to breathe only after it is gone, small and hitched inhales of cold air. Then he starts to hear his own friends talking again in hushed whispers, pulling on his robes.

They had to leave this place, _now_. But, as always, there are already footsteps running towards them, several, the water splashing along the irritated voices of several professors. Harry knows he and his friends won’t get away now, not when Filch finally turns around the corner and smiles in an evil glee for having caught the culprits red-handed. It only lasts for as long as the man has yet to see his cat and the warning written on the yellow bricks of the school’s walls.

…

The gossip about the writing on the wall is forgotten in favor of the quidditch game, even if other students still glance at the three of them in suspicion every now and then. Fred and George flank Harry from both sides, wide grins on their faces that promise rather fierce consequences to those that decide to bother their Seeker, instead of the usual mischief and laughter. Harry can’t find quite the right words to thank the two of them.

Sirius had written to him the day after Harry had found the flooded corridor and the petrified cat with Hermione and Ron (a reply to the boy’s panicked letter) to reassure his son. Sirius believed in his innocence and explained about the Chamber, adding that Harry was in no way related to Salazar Slytherin. No matter how much the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black loved the founder, they were in no way related by blood with him. ( _Perhaps I should have written about the voice as well_ , Harry thought later that day, when the whispers once more slid past him on his way to class.)

But the boy forgets about all of his worries in time for the game, concentrates on the one simple task he has to complete – _catch the snitch_. Even if Draco is his opponent, even if the sun blinds him at times, Harry feels the most _alive_ on his broom, gliding through the air and zipping past the blurred forms of his teammates and opponents. The game is barely fifteen minutes in when he spots the golden ball. He breathes slowly and bends low over his broom as he speeds across the field and after the little ball, Draco soon on his tail and determined to get in the way.  But, his cousin isn’t the only one that seems to be hell-bent on getting in Harry’s way.

The bludger shadows the Seeker, ignores everyone else. No matter how hard Fred and George try to hit it away from Harry, it doesn’t let off. With both the bludger and Draco on his tail, Harry is forced to do all kinds of risky maneuvers and sharp turns. In one such turn he barely manages to avoid a collision with a Slytherin Chaser and the cursed ball slams into his right arm. His arm guard flies off and Harry can tell right away that bones are broken – the pain alone is enough to tell by.

“Shit.” Harry hisses but doesn’t stop. He’s had enough and the boy decides to end this game right now. “Bugger off, Malfoy.” He growls under his breath and dives down, where he can see the golden flash of the snitch. It takes only a few seconds, but soon the wings of the small ball are beating wildly against the fingers of his left hand. The game is over and Harry allows himself to fall off the broom and roll on his back to rest.

Just as his teammates jump off their brooms and run towards him, Harry sees someone blow up the murderous bludger (Hermione, he later finds out). He sits up and grins back to the Weasley twins and a really pleased Oliver. However, just as Fred crouches down to help Harry stand up, Lockhart’s booming laugh vibrates over the cheers.  Harry sucks in a breath and shoots a panicked look to his team. Of all the teachers to be down here, it had to be the pompous blond that has made it here first in order to “help out”.

“An excellent game, young Mister Black! Very exciting!”Lockhart stands before the Gryffindor team and smiles, his wand already swishing through the air and ready to be used. “And what a dive, I couldn’t have done it better myself! Now, I came rushing down as fast as I could because of that arm of yours! Nasty break, nasty break indeed. But fear not Harry, I can fix it!” He pushes away Katie and Angelina to get closer to Harry, unperturbed by the equally displeased glares that the Wesley boys are giving him.

Harry tries to protest as best as he can, panicking about what might happen with his arm if he let the professor do something to it. Despite everything Lockhart’s wand is pressed against the bruised skin of his right hand and Harry inhales sharply. A hand lands on Lockahrt’s shoulder before he even has the chance to breathe out the first letters of whatever spell he was about to use and Harry looks up to see his father’s _very_ displeased glare towards the DADA teacher.

“I believe there is a very capable nurse in this school, Lockhart. And you are not her.” Sirius pulls the blond man away from Harry and levels the other with the best Black _look_ there is. “I also believe that my brother had a talk with you, quite recently, about what you can and cannot do to my son. Surely, your memory isn’t _that_ bad.” He sneers, head tilted just so that he is looking down on Lockhart in the most menacing way possible right now. “Now, good job Gred and Forge, go on and take my kid to Pomfrey.”

Thank Merlin parents were allowed to come and watch quidditch games.

…

The petrified girl from Hufflepuff, a fourth year, was taken to the hospital wing this morning and hidden away from those who wanted to gawk at her and point with their fingers. Harry can feel the whispers and theories about the one behind the attack vibrating along the castle walls. Remus would tell the boy that it was just magic, moving along the halls and gathering in places, helped along by the numbers of young witches and wizards that had yet to completely control it. It was still a little overwhelming though.

Now more than ever the threat that had been written in blood seems far too real. Accompanied by the voice that had no body and seemed to seek out more panic, more fear and _more victims_ – Harry kept quiet about being able to hear it. He has thought about following the quiet hissing whenever he happens to catch it, but thinks better of it and stays where he is.

If it really is the voice in the walls that is responsible for all of this, the boy didn’t want to know who it belonged to.

With two students (and a cat) already waiting for the Mandrake Draught to be made it was a suicide mission to try and find out the reasons of these attacks. However, Harry knows that it’s also stupid to do what Dumbledore asked them to and not write to his family about these things. No matter how much the professors calmed the students down with the promises of patrols and safety precautions, Harry still does not feel any safer in these walls. Not when it seems like the students were ready to turn on anyone who might be found or revealed as the Heir of Slytherin.

Harry sends off the letter to his father with a relieved sigh. He does it in the middle of the night, so that no one can catch him and read what he had written or try and capture Hedwig before she takes flight. The invisibility cloak, however, does nothing to make him feel warmer (but it is more than capable of hiding the boy from the patrolling teachers and prefects), so Harry quickly heads back to bed.

The next morning is quiet; the conversations between the students are hushed and whispered. The owls come as usual, bringing Daily Prophet and letters from worried parents asking about how school is going so far and if their kids were doing alright. Hedwig flies down in an elegant arch, lands on Harry’s shoulder and lifts her leg with the letter attached to it. Harry takes the letter and offers some of his bacon to the exhausted owl, together with a few gentle pats.

_Harry,_

_I cannot express how grateful I am that you chose to write to us. Dumbledore’s decision to keep these attacks behind closed doors is wrong, so very wrong. Your father probably blew up a good part of the yard once he was done reading your letter. Don’t worry, cub, your jungle was left alone. (And as he is still in no condition to reply, I’m doing it in his place)_

_Now, as for what is going on in that castle. I know Sirius told you the legend of Chamber of Secrets already, so I won’t bore you with retelling that. However, if the monster hidden in it is indeed the one who is now roaming around and petrifying people… Harry, please be careful. Sirius is thinking about pulling you out of the school as it is._

_We will do research in hopes to find something. You, however, will try and not get in any trouble. I know, I know – the trouble usually finds you – but that does not mean you need to go and specifically look for it. And that includes trying to capture the monsters or wandering around the Forbidden Forest, no matter how nice Firenze might be to you. For the sake of our sanity, Harry Black, keep out of there for the time being._

_If something else happens write to us, please. We will do whatever we can to make sure you and your friends are safe and that whoever is behind this gets caught. Reg and I don’t even feel the least bit sorry for the culprit when Sirius catches and has his way with them. That’s what happens to those who try to hurt you._

_Love,  
Remus._

Harry sighs in relief and tells his two friends about what Remus has written back. Ron looks thoughtful as he eats his serving of eggs and sausages before he nods to himself. “Since your folks know about this I won’t write to mum. She’ll just send howlers to Dumbledore’s office and then he’ll know that parents know. And that will be bad.” He reaches out for the pitcher of gravy and floods the rest of his sausages in it.

“How can you _eat that_?” Hermione slides away from the redhead and scowls down on the horror that is her friend’s breakfast. “We could go and look through the books in the library, see if there is a magical animal that can petrify people. Maybe we will manage to find something.” She sounds unsure, however, since the professors didn’t like to encourage the students to look too deep into this. Well, anyone other than Lockhart.

“I know a few, but none of them can go invisible. Bloody hard to walk around the place and do all this and never be seen.” Ron annihilates the last of his sausages before he raises his head to look properly at his two best friends. “In battle you gotta find out everything you can about your opponent. I say we need more dirt on the Heir before we deal with the pet.”

Harry leans his head against the palm of his hand scrunches up his face. This was all way too much for the three of them to deal with. But, well, so was the whole fiasco of his last year and they managed well enough then. “Slytherin would be too obvious then. Unless the Heir thinks we would think that and really is a Slytherin. Would be funny if he turned out to be Goyle though.” He snickers and soon the other two second-years join in.

…

“Dueling’s fun! Bill and Charlie sometimes show us how to do it when they come home for holidays. It’s always flashy and they move around a lot, though. Probably for entertainment value. And to keep the twins from getting bored.” Ron adjusts the straps of his backpack over his shoulder and leads the three of them down to the Great Hall.

With the attacks taking place and the school on a sort of a lockdown it seems like the only smart thing that the teachers had decided to do - teach the students how to protect themselves. Even if the spells would be something simple like a disarming charm or a tripping hex. Harry just hopes that professor Flitwick is the one who will lead the club, or perhaps Dumbledore himself even. No one else seemed to be good enough for something like this.

“If we learn how to defend ourselves, then there are bigger chances we can run away from the attacker. Unless, he is one of us and he will be ready for us trying to fight back. _Or_ we know spells that he doesn’t and surprise him.” Hermione rambles on, going on and on about the many possible ways a meeting with the monster and its master could go for them. There is some sort of statistic involved in the one-sided dialogue but neither Harry nor Ron pay much attention to what their friend is going on about. It doesn’t seem like she is waiting for any kind of reply anyway.

Once the three of them walk inside the Great Hall they are greeted by a sight that makes them stop dead. On the stage stands Lockhart and Snape, two of them most unsuitably matched professors in the whole school. Dread fills Harry as he listens to the explanation their DADA teacher gives on the importance of the Dueling Club and how he was a triple champion of something-or-another. This all just seems like a _very bad idea_.

“And now, my trusty helper Severus will assist me in this demonstration to show you how to do duel correctly! First, we walk ten steps, turn around and bow.” Lockhart does just that and then makes, what Harry presumes is, a very flourish bow. The two professors ready their wands for an attack and then Lockhart flashes them all one last smile before turning his attention to Snape. “Now, on three! One, two, three!”

Snape snaps his wand forward in speed that takes Harry by surprise and very quietly hisses under his breath, “ _Expelliarmus._ ” The bright red light hits Lockhart straight in the chest and the DADA professor gets blasted back and against the wall. The potions professor looks at the crumpled man lying on the floor and his lips twitch in a barely hidden smirk. Perhaps Snape wasn’t so bad, if he took pleasure in ruining it for Lockhart.

Ron reaches forward to high-five Harry behind the back of a fourth-year Ravenclaw student. Hermione jumps on the balls of her feet to try and see if Lockhart is well, earning a small snicker from Ron. Harry just rolls his eyes at the both of them and moves to pair up with Draco for the new duel demonstration as ordered by the potions professor (Snape was no good guy after all, if he thinks this pairing will not result in a trip to the Hospital wing).

When he sees that Draco gets help from Snape, however, Harry squares his shoulders and takes a deep breath. Fairness be damned, he will not be made fun of by someone who called his uncle and father bad names and only knew how to whine to his father to get things. Besides, Harry has been raised by two Marauders and a Slytherin – he will be walking out of this room victorious. He shrugs off Lockhart’s attempts at help and hisses that can do this on his own, thanks. Perhaps _Sirius_ needed to have a talk with the annoying professor this time.

Harry’s bow to Draco is nothing more than a small movement of his head. Both stand still for a moment and then move almost at the same time. Harry’s shout of _Protego_ is quickly followed by Draco’s hissed _Serpensortia_.

The black snake hisses as it falls on the wooden stage. It coils up, hisses once more and then uncoils as it tastes the air. Draco smiles, the gesture oozing a twisted kind of glee about what could happen soon. “What now, Black? Not so tough are you, when bested by someone else?” The Slytherin snickers, glancing back to make sure his fellow House-mates share the amusement.

“Bugger you.” Harry growls and cancels his shield to quickly cast a stunner at his distracted opponent. He ignores the snake completely, even when the angered reptile continues to slide closer and closer to him. Once Draco lands on his back before his own pack of Slytherin cheerleaders Harry grins, a perfect mirror image of Sirius’ own grin, and looks down on the snake that is by his feet now, “ _Ssstop. Your massster is down and I don’t want to hurt you._ ”

The hisses that he makes send shivers down the room and get everyone to stop and look at him, with eyes wide and faces gone pale.

…

_Dad,_

_Can you come and pick me up? I don’t care that it’s before the actual break. I don’t want to be here anymore. The stares are too much and I hate the way everyone is whispering about me._

_Ron and Hermione are with me but it’s not enough. Not when almost all the school thinks that I’m the stupid heir. All because it turns out that I can talk to stupid snakes. And I was trying to calm it down as well! It’s not fair and I’m tired._

_Please._

_Harry._

…

Harry sits curled up on the sofa at the Black cottage. He is leaning against Sirius, with a cup of tea ( _With a small dash of firewhisky to help you calm down_ , Sirius mumbled quietly while his younger brother glared at him) cradled in his hands. His father’s fingers are combing through the mess that is Harry’s hair in an attempt to get the boy to relax even more.

The adults have yet to hear the full story behind the way the other kids had started to treat their youngest family member with such negativity and _fear_ , but they plan to find out soon enough. Dumbledore’s flippant reassurances that this will all pass by and calm down on its own did nothing to calm them down. On the contrary – they just got even more worried and even surer on pulling Harry out of the school until they knew he would not be made into an outcast anymore.

 Or be in mortal danger, for that matter.

It was bad enough with his family’s background already, from what the boy had said. Just because Harry had been sorted into Gryffindor did not mean that the student body forgot about the dark history of the Black family. Or the members that now warmed the chambers of Azkaban prison.

“I didn’t even notice that I changed languages, you know. Hermione said that I just suddenly started hissing. They all looked so scared, even Snape was eyeing me weirdly.” Harry sips his tea, a small scowl on his face. So what that he could talk to snakes? It shouldn’t have come as such a big surprise as he was a member of the Black family – they had all been members of the Slytherin house for centuries and even more. Maybe if he had found out about his ability when there had been no danger of the Chamber looming over the school it would have been better. “They told me I should have been in Slytherin all along, some of the Puffs. I hexed them with boils.” The boy adds quietly.

“I am very sorry to say this, but you would have made a horrible Slytherin, Harry. Too much of your father has been passed onto you.” Regulus smiles at his nephew and earns himself a small smile for the comment. Harry is too brave, too ready to stand in the face of danger and adventure and walk right into it, if needed. And the boy rarely thinks things through properly, instead choosing to go on feelings alone. A mix of both Sirius and Lily.

Remus watches the family scene before him and sighs. It did not add up – the boy being a Parselmouth. When Harry had been small there had been no sign of him possessing it. The only family that could have handed down this kind of ability was that of Salazar Slytherin’s blood and, as much as the Blacks wished for it, these two bloodlines did not cross paths. So, Remus assumes that Harry was not born with it. Or it was a mutation of sorts; a gene that had awakened after the boy survived the killing curse.

Harry looks up at his father and bites his bottom lip. “You don’t… don’t hate me cause I-” His breath hitches and he doesn’t even finish the previous thought. Some had called him evil because of the Parseltongue skill. Maybe he was evil after all? Evil enough to kill someone like Lord Voldemort when he was but a babe.

“Don’t you even go there, Harry.” Sirius’ tone is firm, but not the kind that he used for scolding. “I love you with all my heart and soul, just like Moony and Reggie do. Just because you are a Parselmouth doesn’t change a thing.” He smoothes down the mess of his son’s hair once more, then sighs and feels so very tired. It looks like Harry’s life will never be easy. “Possessing a certain ability doesn’t make you evil, pup. It’s your decisions and how you chose use it that do.”

Harry relaxes against Sirius as he listens to the man, breathes out in relief. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, not that they need words to fill in the quiet. “Dad… Can I—Can I tell you about something else? Something, uh, weird? And, and can you not- I don’t know… Not get angry?” The way he stutters through the words, the way Harry’s breath catches here and there as he tries to make the question fully form makes this seem far more important than the ability to talk to snakes.

Sirius wraps both his arms around the small frame of his kid, still shorter and thinner than most children his age. Curse the Dursleys and curse Dumbledore for damaging his child so bad that some things were unfixable now. They could be made better, but not fixed completely. Never forgotten. “Of course, Harry. You can tell me anything you want, love.” He controls his breathing, counts backwards in any language that he knows to not show his anger towards those who have hurt his little one.

Harry doesn’t look up anymore. But his gaze slides from his cup of tea to Remus and then Regulus, before he focuses on his own fingers again. He swallows a few times, opens his mouth as if to talk, but then closes it again. The fear is like a virus. It spreads and never lets go. But he is a Gryffindor, he is brave. He is strong. Harry is his father’s kid. So he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. “I… Sometimes, I can hear voices. In school. And no one else hears them. Ron said… Ron said that it’s weird… Even in wizard world.”

Sirius’ hold on him tightens even more, his cheek pressed against Harry’s hair. However, it’s Remus who speaks from the three of them. “Harry, cub, it’s okay. You’re not weird.” The werewolf stands and walks to sit down next to the two already on the sofa. “We will never think differently of you, no matter what you do and what happens to you. And, unlike in the muggle world, there is always an explanation to these kinds of things in the wizard one. We’ll find one, don’t worry.” His smile is gentle, reassuring. The warm palm squeezing Harry’s knee is a silent promise to never leave the kid alone again.

“Harry, these voices, do they come from within the walls?” Regulus suddenly asks. His eyes shine bright, face deadly pale and fingers tense in their hold. He shakes his head when Sirius and Remus both throw him questioning glances. “Because, if they do come from there, then I think I might know what is going on in Hogwarts.”

…

Harry stays home even after Christmas break has passed. Sirius is adamant on knowing that it is safe enough for Harry to continue his education. This year has already proved to his father and both uncles that Hogwarts is not the safest place in the whole country for their boy. Last year included.

During the break Sirius took a couple of aurors to the school in hopes of finding the Chamber and catching the one who had released the basilisk upon the student body. Of course, there had been protests from the headmaster, but once McGonagall was informed of the suspicions that Regulus had concerning the beast (it had been decided to stick with _suspicions_ rather than _was completely sure_ ) she agreed to allow the halls to be searched and a few roosters to be let loose in the old castle.

Even so, nothing had been found and the students returned, eager (and some not so eager) to continue on with their studies. All were checked for any artifacts connected to the dark arts and imprints of possession.

“Now, if anything happens, no matter what, call any of us immediately. We’ll get there as fast as we can.” Sirius places his hands on Harry’s shoulders and looks at his son. He is worried, certainly, but hopes that Ron and Hermione will be there to help the boy with the gossip and rumors that were bound to travel around.

Harry indulges his father and smiles, reaches out to hug the grown man and tries to channel some of his childish bravery and sureness into the action. “It’s gonna be okay, dad. Ron and Hermione are with me and I will try to talk with you as often as I can.” He doesn’t reveal the fact that he and his friends will most likely try and find the Chamber of Secrets on their own. “And if something happens I will tell you first.”

“Damn Gryffindor brat, you’re too much me and far too less Lils.” Sirius laughs as he places a kiss in his son’s hair and then hugs Harry tightly to hide his fear about what might happen. His whole being tries to remember the feeling of the small boy for him to remember in moments of weakness and confusion. Something to remember when he has lost his reason to continue the fight against Voldemort and the maniac’s goons.

A reason besides the death of his brother in all but blood and the love of his life.

Harry pats him on the back and giggles. And if that wasn’t so painfully Remus of the kid, then Sirius didn’t know what else might be.

…

Harry meets Sirius, Remus and Regulus right outside the Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. He twists a wand not his own between his fingers and his skin is pale in fear, worry. The bottom lip is bitten red and his eyes shoot around the corridors, shifting from one corner of the wall to the other, as if trying to find out from where an attack might come. His whole frame is trembling ever so slightly – from what, none of the three adults can tell.

“Harry, what the hell are you doing outside of your common room?” Sirius is angry, obviously so when there is the danger of basilisk looming over their heads. He still pulls the trembling boy close and holds the child in his arms. “Dear Merlin, pup, don’t scare me like that. You’re one of the few of my family left.” He breathes in, the sound a painful rattle in his throat. Too much Sirius has had to go through in his life. Too heavy burdens he carries with him.

“I-I’m sorry, dad! But, but there is a new message on the wall an-and the snake said something about ki-killing whoever is left down there. And Hermione is petrified and… Dad I am so scared and Lockhart tried, tried to _obliviate_ me and Ron. Malfoy is down there, in the Chamber.” Harry’s voice is high pitched and the words come out in a rush of breath, teeth clattering as if from cold as he tries to get everything out. His small body seems to be too high-strung to calm down.

Regulus and Remus are quickly by the side of the father and the son, shushing the hysterics that are bubbling up from inside the boy. Remus gently rubs Harry back and takes in the horrified face of Sirius before taking over the questioning. “Are you and Ron alright, Harry?” He asks instead of anything else, since that was most important right now. More important than basilisks, Chambers and Draco being taken away.

The boy nods, the action jerky but sure. “We’re fine. Lockhart, I stunned him before he could say much. He’s in there,” Harry nods towards the bathroom with his head, refusing to let go of his father. “And… and the entrance to the Chamber as well. Myrtle told me. I think I can get open it, cause I know Parseltongue.” He then passes the wand in his hands to Regulus (Lockhart’s wand, they will later find out) and takes a shaky breath.

A soldier ready for war. That’s how their little boy looked right now.

Sirius regains himself quickly enough and pushes Harry away from himself, far enough to be able to look the boy in the eyes. The shadows playing on the man’s face reveal conflict and fear, anger and so, so much pride it’s almost suffocating. “I am so proud of you. And I love you so much. You will stay by our side at all times; listen to what we tell you to do. We’ll take care of the snake and whoever is controlling it, okay?” His hands cup Harry’s face and he places a kiss on the boy’s forehead.

Harry breathes deep and nods only – he doesn’t trust his voice to work right now. But he leads his three guardians inside the flooded bathroom, where Ron stands guard over the unconscious Lockhart. Myrtle hovers not too far from the redhead, coos about the good-looking professor. Remus goes to check on Ron, to make sure the boy is okay and to calm down in case it’s needed.

Regulus moves to examine the sinks. Sirius’ fingers dig into his son’s shoulder. “Remus, how about you stay up here with Ron and the buffoon? Or maybe Regulus. One of you two, either way. To make sure no one follows us down,” he looks at Ron then, “and to keep Lockhart in check, in case he wakes up. But knowing Harry’s stunners he shouldn’t.” It’s the auror talking now, the Sirius that thinks up backup plans and secures all the loose parts of an attack plan before anything happens.

“I will stay behind, I think. Snakes creep me out and I would prefer not to see the Dark Lord, if he is down there. Bad memories.” Regulus moves away from the sinks and goes to sit down on the windowsill next to Ron. “Come here, young Weasley, I am sure you have had quite the adventure tonight already. Care to tell me about it while they go down the rabbit hole?”

Harry smiles as he watches his best friend eyeing Regulus suspiciously, but the smile vanishes when Sirius leads him closer to the entrance of the Chamber. He walks to the sink that Myrtle had pointed out to and examines it closely, looking for something that might resemble a snake. Once he finds a small carving Harry focuses on it, squints his eyes to make it seem alive and moving. “ _Open_.” He hisses quietly, over the sound of dripping water. Immediately strong hands pull the boy away from the sinks as they move and shift to reveal the giant hole leading down, into the heart of Hogwarts.

…

Harry doesn’t let go of Sirius’ hand for a long time. What had happened in the Chamber, the things that the memory of Tom Riddle had said still vibrate and repeat in his head, every time the boy closes his eyes. He can feel the teenage Dark Lord whispering next to him ( _Harry Black, you thought you can save them? Your father is dying, you know, not even that sword will help you_ ). It may have been an illusion but the possibility of it happening was far too real.

The basilisk had died quickly, with the help of the rooster that Remus had transfigured. But the fangs were still dripping venom, still usable as weapons.

Remus leafs through the destroyed diary as they slowly make their way to the headmaster’s office. Something about the small book is interesting to the man, not that Harry will try to find out what. Just the thought that it had stored in it some part of Voldemort and could possess and kill a person… Harry squeezes his father’s fingers tighter and moves to walk even closer to Sirius. He doesn’t care what others might think if they see him – the fear is too big right now, the promises that the echo of time had dropped too fresh in his mind.

“Hey, it’s okay now. It’s over.” Sirius stops walking and crouches down on one knee to be the same eye-level with his son. His hands, dirty from the old tiles of the Chamber and the basilisk they defeated (and stole a couple of fangs from), caress Harry’s pale cheeks and bring the boy’s face close to his. Their foreheads touch and Sirius speaks quietly, only for his boy to hear. “I’m here, Moony is here. We’re both alive and nothing happened. You’re safe. We all are.”

Harry closes his eyes and places his own hands on top of Sirius’. He needs to feel the warmth of them, needs to be absolutely sure that everything was truly real. “I-I know. But the things that he, Tom, told me. Or, I don’t… don’t know, showed me? It was so real and I was so, _so_ scared dad.” The fear now truly seemed to settle in. Before there was only the determination to continue and fight until the end, the conviction to be brave like his uncle and father.

“I know, pup. I know so well. That thing told me things as well, showed me stuff from my nightmares. But you got me out by kicking me in the shin, so here I am. In one piece, still breathing and with no critical injuries. Of course, Remus helped by destroying the thing for good.” Sirius kisses Harry’s forehead and hugs the child close to himself. It really had been a challenge to remember that the images that the horcrux showed him were but illusions. Dark, dark magic. “You were so brave, love. Saved your cousin and me, talked to the snake long enough to give us time to get the damn rooster. I’m so proud of you.”

Remus’ hand ruffles Harry’s hair while the boy stays in his father’s embrace. Regulus pats him on the shoulder as he walks by with both Draco and Lockhart floating before him, unconscious to the world around them. Ron stays quiet as he wishes he could have his own family around right now and could burrow in his mother’s warm and familiar hug.

When Sirius pulls back from Harry it’s Remus who looks over them all and smiles weakly. “Let’s go to Dumbledore’s office then. Regulus, I think Pomfrey will be there as well. Just as Ron’s parents.” He turns to the redhead and offers the boy a small, encouraging nod. “It’s time we get past the interrogation and go home as soon as possible.”

It has been a long evening, after all.

…

Harry sits in on the meeting Sirius has with Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. His eyes flicker towards the house elf that’s crouched under the decorative table by the door every now and then. Compared to Kreacher, the house elf that was left to take care of the Grimmauld Place and the portrait of his grandmother, Dobby looked well taken care of. Almost.

After the attempts to save Harry’s life the boy wasn’t sure if the thing was completely sane, however. But, as Remus had told him before, no elf was entirely okay in the head.

“Since _your_ elf had decided to save my son’s life by endangering his life I think it should be _you_ who deal with the consequences.” Sirius’ words drag Harry back to the talk about what to do now, when all of the mess of the Chamber has come down to inter-house problems. “There is also the question about Draco’s actions, of course.”

Narcissa throws her husband a look as she listens, her eyes narrow ever so slightly and Harry thinks there will be a fight between the two later on. “Forgive me, Lord Black. What _exactly_ has my son and the house elf done? Lucius didn’t seem to find it important to give me all of the details.” Harry rather likes Narcissa. If not for her ability to make a grown man look like a child caught doing mischief, then for how she treated him with the kind of warm affection as Andromeda did.

Sirius recounts all of the offences, then. With each new fact Narcissa’s face grows sterner and her eyes promise change of rule in her family. With everything out of the way the woman breathes in deep and keeps quiet for a moment, sorts out all the facts now laid bare before her.

“Lord Black-- _cousin_ ,” she corrects herself when Sirius gives her a disapproving look and smiles ever so slightly, despite the situation, “I am terribly sorry for the mess my husband and son have caused you. You too, Harry, had I been aware of this I would have put a stop to it.” She bows her head ever so slightly, sincere in her words. “Dobby will be sent to serve at Hogwarts, he knows too much to be given clothes. My son, however… perhaps work of sorts is in order?”

“I agree about the elf. Good decision.” Sirius nods along and his lips twitch at the corners when he sees the way Lucius is sneering right now. No decorum at all.”But Draco, well, he was possessed so there was no way for him to control his actions. Perhaps we leave it as me fulfilling my duty as Head of an allied family and saving a family member from danger?”

Narcissa agrees with unmasked relief. As the Malfoys get ready to leave the woman pulls Harry in a warm hug and kisses his forehead, as gentle as if she was holding her own little boy. “I truly am sorry about what happened to you because of my family.” She smoothes down the fringe on Harry’s forehead, “I never would have thought that Draco was acting in such a way. I thought I had raised him better.”

Harry hugs her back just a tightly and grins, “It’s okay aunt Cissy. I know you would never allow something like that. Oh, I did tell Draco he’s beneath me last year, hope you don’t mind.” The boy scrunches up his nose as he remembers the things the Malfoy had called him and the few unpleasant meetings they had.

“I can imagine what cause that, since it seems like Lucius has been _teaching_ our child things I have never approved of.” She looks over her shoulders at the Malfoy Head with anger and _danger_ dancing in her eyes. “Now, we must leave. But I want you to write me as always and keep up with what Regulus teaches you.” With another pat on Harry’s shoulder she turns to leave, directing another small nod towards Sirius.

…

“So, we took care of the ring and we know one is in the LeStrange vault. One could be in Hogwarts, knowing how the snake face is about memorable places.” Remus scratches one more item off the list and adds two locations where to look for two more. Perhaps the whole Chamber of Secrets paid back as they got the basilisk fang needed to destroy these things.

Treasures of wizarding world soiled so. It was better to get rid of them than leave them as they were.

Regulus shifts in his seat and looks over Remus’ shoulder at the wrinkled-from-use paper, smeared with ink and full of scribbled on ideas and locations. He squints at the messy scrawl of the werewolf’s handwriting and quietly mouths along as he reads, to not lose the place. “Why do you think the snake is one as well? Because it is a familiar?”

Remus nods, uncertainty showing in the small move. “Yes. But we don’t know if a living thing can be made into one. Or where the damn thing even _is_ right now, for that matter.” They had made progress, of course, but it was small and didn’t move as fast as they wished it would. Only relief in the whole thing was that the Sword of Gryffindor had not been tempered with (if one forgot that Harry had called it out of the Sorting Hat, curiously enough) and it could be used in killing the shards of Dark Lord’s soul as well.

Harry’s laughter flows in through the open door and makes the two men stop their small debate in order to look outside, to the backyard. Regulus shakes his head in fond exasperation when he sees Sirius, wet from head to toe, running after Harry. The boy is dry, however the large grin on his face is indication enough that he is the reason behind the large puddles scattered around the green lawn.

The boy shrieks when Sirius finally catches him by the waist and drops the both of them into the closest puddle, splattering mud to all sides. Remus laughs quietly to himself as he watches the father and son rolling in the mud like a couple of canines. At days like these it was easy to forget that there was a threat of Voldemort coming back looming over them, that there were still members and enemies of the Black family out there that wanted to harm the twelve year old ( _only for two more months, Moony!_ ).

“Let’s resume this, Remus. We need to think of places in Hogwarts where it would be possible to hide something. You will not have a lot of spare time while teaching and making sure Harry does not get in too much trouble, I would imagine.” Regulus claps Remus on one shoulder and moves back to their list to add a few more places that might be worth checking out. If only they had a way to find all of the horcruxes easily and without chasing after loose ends and dubious clues.

The werewolf sighs and returns to the lists and the plans, to the attempts of fixing their responsibility before it falls on the shoulders of their children. A never-ending war finally seems closer to the end. Yet it feels like the conclusion still depends on one little boy, chosen by the Dark Lord himself to stand before the monster and slay it for good.


	4. Year Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Might be some grammar mistakes and typos, since I was too lazy to proof-read the last couple of parts of this. Apologies for that.
> 
> I am not sure when I will be able to post the 4th year, since I only had this far pre-written before posting this up. And, my studies are kind of asking a lot from me, so I can't promise anything fast, or concrete dates.

They find out that Bellarix has escaped Azkaban in the middle of a family dinner. Andromeda pales and grows frigid, her fingers white in their hold of the cutlery. Even with Ted’s reassuring hand on her shoulder and Tonk’s wide-eyed stare she doesn’t turn her gaze from the black owl perched on the back of Sirius’ chair.

Betrayal shines in her eyes. Deep and painful betrayal that will never heal.

Harry is immediately made to leave the room, with Tonks as his babysitter while the adults talk and plan what to do next. He’s not stupid, he knows about the prophecy and the duty expected of him whenever the time will come for it. _And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives_. The shivers that run across his very being are cold and sharp against the vivid fear of a destiny he doesn’t want.

Tonks pulls the boy close and places her chin on Harry’s head. They sit on the floor, wrapped up like that for a while. The muffled voices of their parents arguing float through the couple of closed doors, but they can’t really understand anything and soon it cuts off completely – a silencing charm, no doubt.

“It’s gonna be okay, lil’ cousin. Siri and Reg are both pretty damn scary when they work together, and mom is a force on her own. It’s all in the Black blood or something, my dad said.” Tonks wraps herself tighter around Harry and her hair slowly changes colors as a way to cheer the boy up a little bit. Though, her words seems to do that better than her abilities.

Harry turns around in her hold and rests his head on Tonk’s shoulder. “Thanks Nym. I’m just scared of that woman, you know. Dad told me a little bit about her and what she did, about what she wanted to do before they took her down. What if… what if she comes for me? Because of, of… I don’t know.” The teenager huffs in irritation as the right words seem to be lost to him. But he had spent enough time with his elder cousin so she probably got what Harry wanted to say.

Tonks grins, ruffles Harry’s hair. “I am too, you know? Scared of her. But we have _allll_ these people around here who are pretty damn good at this magic crap and I’m pretty okay too, I guess. Auror trainee and all that.” She laughs and the sound is warm and comforting. “You’ll be okay, lil’ cousin. You aren’t half-bad yourself, being merely thirteen and short.”

The boy huffs and pokes his cousin in the side, causing Tonks to squeak loudly and quickly roll away from Harry’s pointy fingers. The news of Bellatrix’s escape and the fear are soon forgotten as they start running around the room in an impromptu poke war. When Andromeda and Sirius come to check on the two troublemakers later both parents walk in on the two rolling around the floor and giggling madly, faces flushed red and long robes forgotten by the fireplace.

…

“So you have an owl now?” Harry asks Ron as soon as the compartment doors are safely closed behind Hermione’s back.

The three friends get comfortable in the compartment; with Hermione’s cat Crookshanks taking up whole two seats by himself. Despite whatever dislike Ron had for the fluffy orange furball, Harry likes the grumpy cat (and Hedwig seemed to take a sort of a liking to the cat as well). He absently pets the purring animal while his two friends put up their trunks and finally sit down before continuing with their conversation.

Ron grunts quietly and pulls out a crumpled bag with chocolate frogs from the pocket of his pants. “Yeah, mom said I should finally get a pet of sorts and we had some money left from the prize we got. It’s your average barn owl, but I’m not picky. It’s kinda grumpy so I called it Alastor, in honor of Moody. Twins thought it was funny, mom not so much, but it was too late to change it cause the owl no longer replies to anything else.” The redhead had showed the two the puffy barn owl right before they had boarded the train, right before the bird screeched and took flight towards Hogwarts.

“Alastor Moody?” Hermione scrunches up her face a little as she tries to recall anyone named like that. She comes up with a blank eventually and glances towards her two friends in hopes of one of them explaining the joke to her. Then, she blinks once and a look of comprehension dawns on her face.“Oh, he is the auror in charge of looking for LeStrange, right? They wrote about him on the Daily Prophet.”

Harry nods and reaches for the offered chocolate frog from Ron. “Dad works with him. He’s pretty fun if he’s not talking about Death Eaters and Azkaban. He teaches me spells whenever dad takes me to the ministry.” He laughs at the look of slight envy on Ron’s face and the wide-eyed stare that Hermione gives him.

The two had already explained about the tracker places on underage witches and wizards to the muggleborn girl and she quite peeved about the unfairness of it all.

“Whatever.” The girl sighs and decides to just move on to the next theme of conversation, though before she can do so the train starts to slow down. “What is going on? We aren’t supposed to be there yet.” Her voice rises a little in tone and she straightens out in her seat, ready to run or cast spells if needed. The last two years have made her be prepared for anything.

Ron gets up and looks out the window, squints into the dark surrounding the train. “Someone is getting in. Tall people in long robes.” His breath leaves marks on the cold glass. The boy then jumps when the lights flicker out and the panicked voices of the other children in the train start to travel through the hallway and into their compartment.

The door suddenly opens and two girls stumble inside and into Harry, who had stood up in an attempt to leave and check what was going on. He hisses in pain when one of the two girls makes him fall back into his seat, her warm weight settled in his lap. He steadies the girl and then tries to see her in the dark. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to sit on you, whoever you are.” The unfamiliar and dreamy voice of the girl in his lap says to Harry and then moves off from him as she settles into the seat where Crookshanks had slept until now. “But such an eventful ride this is. Unexpectedly so. Too bad this is the bad kind of excitement.”

“Sorry about that guys! Luna and I were on our way back from the bathrooms and your compartment was closer than ours. It’s creepy out there and she said we’d be safe here.” Ginny explains and her voice comes from somewhere closer to the windows. She then mutters something under his nose as Ron starts to protest her elbow jabs in his side. Even the quiet bickering doesn’t stop Harry from noticing the tremble in the girl’s voice.

The train then shakes slightly and it starts to get colder.

Harry bundles up his robes in an attempt to keep the warmth close to himself and can’t help but feel dread welling up somewhere inside of him. He wills his wand to slide into the palm of his right hand from the holster strapped around his arm, afraid but ready to fight back whatever that had gotten onto the train. Perhaps it won’t do much, if it was Bellatrix, but Harry still locks the compartment door with a quietly whispered spell, while Hermione mutters her own spells and aims her want to the door right next to him.

Sometimes the smallest of delays meant the most. Sirius and Remus had both taught him this, together with spells that could help.

Just as they are done something slides past the windows of their door and stops before them. The air grows even colder and someone next to Harry whimpers, though it is hard to tell who since his head is pounding slightly now and muted screams ring in his ears the closer the _thing_ leans to the door. Harry’s hand shakes, but his grip on the holly wand stays strong. The boy grits his teeth to not make any noise as the door starts to rattle, the locks straining to not let the hooded figure ( _fear, fear, fear, there is nothing but cold and fear radiating from the creature, choking nothingness seeps out of its robes_ ) into the small room. A small hand grabs the back of Harry’s robes just as a loud click of the lock stops all sound and movement.

Harry’s breath hitches in his throat and the screams in his ears grow stronger ( _Not Harry, not my son! Take me in his places, take me and spare my boy!_ ). He feels faint, sick and _so utterly alone_. The past abuse, the names he had been called, the bright, bright green of a memory long forgotten flashes past his eyes. It doesn’t seem real. It’s not real, Harry repeats to himself over and over.

Hermione screams as a black and rotten hand starts to stretch towards Harry. The same hand that held onto him is now pulling Harry back from it frantically, with strength fueled by adrenalin and fear. Just as the very tips of the black fingers touch Harry’s neck, something white and bright slams into the dementor from the side and sends it flying, away from their compartment. Remus follows the bright white wolf and looks at the five kids in apparent relief, but that soon morphs into worry as Harry sways and falls into seat.

He feels himself shaking, breathing heavily. Everything is cold and _horrible_ – like there was nothing good left in the world anymore. Like he was still locked up in the cupboard under the stairs, but this time there is someone evil laughing right behind him, flashing the green light of death over and over again (and the woman keeps on screaming deep inside the darkness).

“Thank Merlin I made it in time.” Remus breathes and snaps his wand in front of him, willing the wolf to return and stand in the doorway. Guarding. He kneels in front of Harry and looks the boy straight in the eyes, making sure everything is okay. “Are you alright?” He asks them all, but his eyes stay on the boy before him. After a moment the man stands and checks on the other four, worry apparent in every small move he makes. “Eat some chocolate, it will make it easier. I have some of Honeydukes right here, share it.”

Once the light turns on and Remus leaves to check on the other kids does Harry notice that Luna is still clutching onto his robes, slightly pale and shaking. He doesn’t say anything, but takes her hand in his own instead.

…

The few days after the incidents on the train are once more spent surrounded in quiet gossip, hastily revealed fears of the dementors and what they could possibly do to them all. Teachers do not look happy about the arrangement either – they sometimes glance outside the classroom windows and narrow their eyes towards the misty shadows gliding across the wards around the castle grounds.

Remus spent the first DADA class showing telling the kids how to avoid and act in the presence of a dementor. The professor gave advice on what best to cast and eat once they were safely away from the dark creature in case some of them got inside the castle or got too close to those who were planning to go and visit Hogsmeade later this year. Everyone finally calmed down, then and got back into the monotone everyday of the school life.

For the next lesson Remus leads his class towards the teacher’s lounge. Harry, Ron and Hermione exchange intrigued looks and share a small grin between the three of them. Whatever they were about to do today it was bound to be something fun and useful at once, since the man always made his lessons interactive and fun, easy to get for everyone. He had quickly become one of the most popular teachers in the school, despite the year being only two weeks in.

Harry couldn’t be happier for his uncle. He had sent both Sirius and Regulus letters telling about Remus’ popularity in great detail, together with a step-by-step narration of his own first lesson with the man.

“Ah, the room is empty, excellent.” Remus leads the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff third years into the empty teachers lounge and stands before a seemingly innocent wardrobe. The piece of furniture shudders and jumps in place, making some of the students jump in surprise as well. The DADA professor smiles and shushes them, “It’s okay, nothing to worry about. Inside the wardrobe is a harmless boggart. Well, not exactly harmless, mind, but he cannot hurt you physically. Who can tell me what a boggart is, then?”

Hermione’s hand shoots up before Remus has managed to complete his sentence and the man hums in amusement as he points at the girl. “A boggart has no definite shape, it changes according to what the one who faces him fears the most. A shape-shifter, in short.” The girl breathes in as he finishes, her hand now resting against her side. Behind her some of the kids look a little worried when she started to talk, probably scared about the prospect of facing their deepest fears.

Remus nods at Hermione’s words. “Five points to Gryffindor, Miss Granger. Now that we know what a boggart is, who might be able to tell me how we can fight against it? Or perhaps just confuse it, since that would do it just as well to buy time. Mister Black, how about you?” The man nods towards an unprepared Harry, encouraging the boy to give his answer to the question.

“Ah… Well, there are so many of us that he will face, so it might be hard for it to decide on what to turn into? We could confuse it, like you mentioned, professor.” Harry knows he has read about boggarts a while back but suddenly all the information seems to have disappeared from his head. Must be because of the sudden question directed at him.

“Five points to Gryffindor again. Mister Black is exactly right. The more people are there, the harder it is for the boggart to chose a form. It can get confused and try to change into multiple things at once, which isn’t too frightening if it becomes, for example, half dog and half kelpie.” Remus laughs together with the students as they try to imagine the sight that would make. “Laughter is another way to defeat it. Using the _riddikulus_ charm we can make the boggart turn into something funny.”

After that explanation they repeat the incantation and wand movement for a few times – to be sure that everyone got it right. Next they stand in a line in front of the wardrobe (it shudders one more time, as if the creature felt that it would be the let out soon) and wait for Remus to open the door and let them take on the boggart for themselves.

The class ends with more points awarded to those that managed to face the boggart and turn their fear it something funny (Harry made his dementor trip over its ripper black cloak and roll on the ground, Ron’s spider got four pairs of roller-skates and Hermione didn’t manage to go). They talk about everything that they had conjured up over and over again, laughing more about the silly things that the _riddikulus_ charm made them do.

Neville’s Snape in drag was the best part the lesson - everyone agrees on that.

…

Harry walks inside the library, notes of the books needed for his essay already held between his fingers. For once the company of Ron and Hermione has done nothing to help the boy in his studies, since the only thing the two of them seem to be doing lately is fighting over Hermione’s cat. _Harry_ thinks that Crookshanks is simply awesome, but Ron, apparently, can’t stand the ginger hair left all over his things. Hypocrite.

He spends a few minutes walking between the towering bookshelves, squinting at the faded titles in the shadowed spaces. With the help of magic Harry gets the books he needs from the top shelves and then makes his way to one of the tables - whichever happens to be free.

None of them are. But then Harry spots a table that only has one occupant sitting by it. It’s the girl that was with them in the train compartment when the dementors were checking the train on the first day of school, Ginny’s friend… Luna. Her hand had been soft and sweaty when Harry held it for the rest of the ride to the Hogsmeade station. This is the first time he sees her again since that day. With a decision made the boy makes his way towards the second year Ravenclaw student and plops across from her, a smile on his lips ( _Don’t forget to smile at girls, pup, be polite_ , Sirius warmed him during the summer).

“Hi, Luna. How are you?” Harry pushes his books a bit to the left and then takes out his essay parchment and a muggle pen (because uncle Moony insists that quills are _so last century and the ink just goes bloody everywhere_ ). “Oh, hope you don’t mind me sitting here. I can move if you want to?” But he doesn’t, not really, when the girl sitting across from him seems just so interesting.

Luna just blinks and tilts her head a little to the side. “It seems like you are free of Gulping Plimpies this time. Last time there were so many of them around us… But that could have been because of the dementors as well, they are friends.” She pokes one of her plum-shaped earrings and then offers Harry a smile of her own. “You can sit here. I’m sure I can’t make you unlikeable, unlike others.”

Having never heard of such creatures before Harry just looks at the Luna for a moment before he speaks. “Sorry, I don’t know of those. But you could tell me more about them, maybe? They sound kind of bad if they are with dementors. Oh, and uhm… I don’t think you can make other people unlikeable. Unless those other people are pricks, like Malfoy.” He feels a bit bad now. It seems like Ginny was right when she had said that Luna didn’t have a lot of friends.

“Oh, You want to know? You really are weird Harry Black.” Luna laughs, the sound airy and quiet. It makes Harry’s cheeks warm up a little bit. “I’m not really sure. I don’t have a lot of friends who could confirm, or deny, this for me. Except Ginny. She’s really nice.” The girl slides one finger down the opened page of her potions book. Her eyes stare somewhere far away, a little bit above Harry’s right shoulder.

“Why wouldn’t I want to? You seem nice. And I would like to be your friend, if that is also okay with you? Or at least get to know you before we become friends.” The young Black pushes his parchment and pen a little bit to the side and stretches out his hand for a handshake. This whole thing is happening wrongly, he knows, since Regulus had taught him the proper ways of befriending a lady. But Luna doesn’t seem like someone who would want to be bowed for and then have her hand kissed, while he says a lot of fancy words.

Luna slowly turns her head to look at Harry’s outstretched hand and then, just as slowly, looks the boy straight in the eyes. The pale blue of her gaze seems to quiver for a moment before she clasps Harry’s hand in her own smaller one, warm and dry this time. “I would like that, Harry Black. Being friends with you. You protected me from the dementors, even though I am Loony Lovegood.” She smiles once more, bright and happy and warm.

“The honor is all mine, Luna.” Harry grins back and pulls back his hand. “And you’re not loony, you’re fun. Call me just Harry, by the way. We’re friends now.” He finally opens up his transfiguration books and at pretends to do something when he actually continues to talk with the second year girl. “So, what are the Plimpies? Do they look like dementors?”

…

The first trip to the Hogsmeade Harry spends with Remus. The two chat about the lessons and the animals Remus plans to show them in class next – hinkypunks, red caps and so much more. Harry helps his uncle to leaf through the first and second year essays, points out the answers that he knows for sure are wrong.

The two drink tea and munch on the chocolaty biscuits that Remus always keeps close to his persona. Tin boxes of this brand of muggle confectionary can be found around the Black cottage in the weirdest of places, some empty and some full of various knick-knacks that simply had no other place to go.

Harry once found one of these boxed full of Regulus’ notes of some kind, while searching for his uncle’s coat that he wanted to borrow.

Once Snape has come and given Remus his dose of Wolfsbane potion ( _Harry narrows his eyes right back at the glare Snape sends his way, aware that Remus rolls his eyes at the childish fight happening before him_ ) the two make their way downstairs and to the Halloween feast about to start in the Grand Hall. They manage to avoid Peeves on their way down – the poltergeist is too busy filling up empty armor with some kind of green goo.

“What do you think will go wrong this year?” Harry asks while they walk down the stairs. Well, Remus walks while Harry slides down the rail on his butt. “Last year it was the cat thing and before that was the troll. Tradition asks for some kind of mess up, right uncle Moony?”

Remus side-eyes at the teenager and shakes his head. “Traditions are meant to be broken, cub. Perhaps this year will be normal.” Though, the man thinks it will certainly not be, not as long as Bellatrix is free and still a danger to them all.

They had thought that with Peter caught and put behind bars all of this would end once and for all. But now that they are sure that some part of Voldemort is still alive, that there are horcuxes to find and destroy and the prophecy hanging like a death mark on Harry’s shoulders…. This nightmare had just stopped for a few years and now it has come back, in full force. They will need to tell the boy about this soon, so that he knows what to expect and what to be vary of.

“Uncle Moony _please_. When has anything ever worked out to be normal for me? Just give me one time!” Harry laughs as he lands on his feet once the railing ends and looks back up at his uncle. The vibrant green of his eyes is bright and _alive_. “I’m gonna go ahead, Ron and Hermione promised to bring me stuff back from the shops. Bye Moony!” The boy runs off with one final wave of his hand and disappears behind a corner.

Remus smiles fondly to himself and follows the boy’s retreating footsteps to the Great Hall, where most of the students that had stayed in the castle are already gathered. This evening should work out well, at least Remus hopes it will.

Sadly, nothing ever happens as it should. Bellatrix manages to break into the castle and destroy the portrait guarding entrance to the Gryffindor tower. Peeves flies around the castle and sings about the mad Bella, who had a shiny knife and threatened to cut up whoever got in her way. The students panic, huddled together in the Grand Hall and wrapped in their brightly colored sleeping bags. The decorations now seem less fun and more dangerous, foreboding.

Remus doesn’t care about the reasons Dumbledore gives him on why Harry should stay in the Grand Hall with all the other kids. The man takes the shaken boy up to his private chambers and floos Sirius immediately, tells about what has happened. Both Regulus and Sirius arrive immediately, to help with the search and guard Harry from possible attacks.

Harry stays up the whole night, leaning against Regulus’ warm chest and listening to his uncle’s promises that this will be taken care of soon enough.

It doesn’t happen, but at least Harry has his family around.

…

Harry wakes up at the infirmary. The rain is still pelting against the windows and the air is damp and cold in the old castle’s rooms. Everything hurts and the boy tries to remember what happened during the game with Hufflepuff, what could have landed him in the infirmary once again.

He remembers the stinging rain, how hard it was so see other players, much less the golden snitch. He remembers flying higher, up in the storm clouds to escape the worst of the storm and maybe _notice something_ , anything at all. Then came the kind of dreadful cold that sucked out everything of him, that froze him completely.

_Dementors_. The realization hits Harry like a sledgehammer. The fall, the screams echoing in his ears. No wonder he is sleeping here right now, trembling ever so slightly.

“Morning there.” Sirius sounds relieved as he speaks. “Gave us quite a scare there. Even more so when the dementors went right after you.” The man reaches out to help his son sit up in the bed and passes a glass of cold water. “A lot of people helped to slow down your fall when we finally noticed you falling. But you still hit the ground pretty hard.”

Harry listens as he drinks the water. He can clearly see the worry and the anxiety on his father’s face, the fear that all parents feel whenever their kid is in danger or hurt. A part of the boy feels guilty for being the cause of all of this, a part of him that is still affected by the dementors and the coldness that the creatures bring forth. He wants to apologize, to ask for… for something. His hands still shake and it’s weird, this hopelessness and fear inside of him.

Sirius’ hands cover Harry’s and they are so warm. So alive. “It’s okay, Harry. None of it was your fault. The dementors were attracted to the numerous emotions that came from the quidditch pitch and so they left their posts and came to the game. Regulus is currently at the ministry cursing up a storm about them being in the school grounds in the first place.” He looks his son directly in the eyes as he speaks, holds the boy’s hands in his own until they stop trembling.

Harry manages a small smile at the mention of Regulus once again barging into the ministry to complain. “We lost, didn’t we? That game. Oh, my broom! Dad, what happened to my broom?” For a moment all his worries seem to be swept away and the only thing that seems important is the quidditch games and the score. Wood and his team must be worried, Harry wonders if they managed to end the whole thing before they were beaten too badly.

“Sorry, pup. The Diggory kid caught the snitch right as you fell. And your broom… Well…” Sirius hesitates, glances at the foot of Harry’s bed where another chair is placed at. On it sits a small wrapped parcel with a few pieces of wood sticking out of it. “It got blown into the Whomping Willow. The blasted tree wasn’t too happy about being hit with it.”

The boy stares at what is left of his bellowed Nimbus and feels like crying all over again. Instead, though, he picks up one of the chocolate frogs left on his bedside table and eats that. Remus always said that chocolate makes it better. It better do so now as well.

“We’ll get you a new one, pup.” Sirius smiles and pats Harry on the shoulder. He then takes one of Harry’s sweets for himself as well. “Remus called me over as soon as he could; he’s now with Dumbledore probably.  It was his patronus that protected you from those blasted things.” The shudder that passes the man shakes his whole body.

Sirius had been exposed to dementors for seven years. Seven long years the man had to relive his most painful and most regretted things – over and over again. Harry can’t help but think that it was only for the good that Sirius couldn’t attend today’s game. His father shouldn’t have to be exposed to the things that tortured him more than any damned wizard.

“Dad?” Harry opens up another chocolate frog package, already feeling a lot better. There is no more coldness seeing from his bones. “Think uncle Moony would teach me that partronus thing? You said it protected me from the dementors.”

Sirius blinks once and looks at his son. “I don’t see why not. If anyone, you should be able to get it done this early.”

…

Christmas break Harry once again spends home, though this time Tonks joins them on the morning of the 25th of December. She carries with her presents from Andormeda and Ted, all wrapped in bright gold and silver papers, red and green bows sitting on top of them. Her hair is a bright red to celebrate the special occasion and she wears a Christmas-themes muggle sweater with reindeers and snowmen charmed to move around the knitting.

“Lil’ cousin, you look so adorable in this! I knew this was the right choice for a gift.” The metamorphmagus grins at the matching sweater Harry is wearing. The boy’s sweater has dogs and little Santa Clauses jumping around in the snow, though it goes well together with Tonks’ reindeers.

Regulus sips his warm eggnog and simply watches the pandemonium of gift unwrapping from the safety of the comfy armchair in the corner of the room. He’s just glad the people that he cares about are happy right now, enjoying themselves in this early morning hour. The gifts meant for him are stacked in a neat pile next to his chair, still unopened. He is in no hurry though.

“Dad! Oh Merlin, you got me a Firebolt! _Bloody hell_.” Harry’s hands are shaking as he unwraps the rest of his new broom. The wood of the handle is smooth and shining from the polish, the thing almost vibrates with the need to me in motion. He wants to go and fly. Right now, this very moment. Despite the snow and the cold and the winds. The boy wants to say something else, express gratitude or just sing sonnets about the broomstick now held in his grasp, but nothing comes out.

Sirius grins, all white teeth and youthful mirth. “It’s a group present, pup. From me, Reg and Moony. Since your Nimbus met such an unfortunate end, we decided you deserve an upgrade.” He pats his son on the back and ignores the whispered swear – let the kid have his moment of awe. “There will be no flying for a while, of course. Not in this dreadful weather.” But the man knows he will have to keep an eye on the backyard and make sure Harry doesn’t try to go out and fly anyway. The kid would certainly do it.

“Put it away before Harry decides to try it out.” Remus slides the Firebolt out of Harry’s hands and places it on top of the closest coffee table. For safe keeping. “Sirius, the dog tag collar was not funny. And I refuse to wear it. But I would be more than happy to get it around Padfoot’s neck the next time he comes around.” The glint in Remus’ eyes promises retribution of sorts in the form of childish pranks.

“You have a dog? Oh that’s so cute! I wanna see him!” Tonks immediately turns to look first at Remus and then Sirius. She looks excited about a possible dog that she can pet and _smoosh_ a lot. She owned a cat herself, but the black feline (Wally, short from Walburga, in honor of her dead aunt) was interested in pats and cuddling only when it was advantageous to himself, not when Tonks wanted to.

Sirius, used to people presuming that his animagus form was only a dog that they owned, smoothly inserts himself into the talk, “Just a stray that sometimes comes by, don’t know if he’s feral or not. Likes Remus here for some reason, must be the _wolfish_ allure this shabby guy possesses.” He salutes to a slightly annoyed-looking Remus before turning around to find his gift to Tonks.

In the mean time, Harry examines a flat package he’s gotten from Fred and George. Now, he likes the twins and the twins obviously like him and while they have exchanged Christmas presents for the last two years, this seems somewhat tame coming from the two mischief makers. This all seems rather suspicious.

Still, having decided that it surely isn’t anything that bad, Harry first opens the letter that’s attacked to the wrapping (something he had overlooked before for some reason, must have been a notice-me-not charm placed on the envelope.)

_Harry, our favorite brother from another mother (and father)!_

_You must be wondering about this seemingly innocent and harmless little gift we have decided to give you, out of the generosity of our hearts, might we add. Before you jump to any conclusions, whatever they might be, we assure you that this will be the greatest thing anyone has ever had._

_A mere empty and used parchment on first glance it might be, but do not let appearances fool you, oh heroic one! To unravel the mystery of this irreplaceable and priceless artifact you must tap it with your wand and say ‘I solemnly swear I am up to no good’. Once you’re done and wish to cover your tracks, so to speak, just say ‘mischief managed’._

_Easy, right Harry?_

_Now, you must now wonder why we have graced you with this decision to allow you to posses this beauty. Fear not little marauder, for it is merely your blood right to have it. We are sure that Mister Moony (also known, as we may have heard you call him on some occasions, professor Remus Lupin) will tell you either way._

_Have fun, our brother from another mother (and father) and have yourself Merry Christmas!  
F &G_

Harry breaths out and feels another wave of surprise and wonder wash over him. The Marauder’s Map is once again in the hands of a Black. This time, the heir of one of its creators.

…

The patronus sucks so much of Harry that it almost seems counter-productive. The dementor (a boggart, but still also a dementor, for the same kind of emptiness washes over the room each time it crawls out of the chest) does as much of a damage as the spell itself. Someone laughs in Harry’s head. It might have been Voldemort, it might have been Uncle Vernon. Screams echo the _Avada Kedavra_ whispers.

“I think we should end it here, Harry. You don’t look good.” Remus locks the chest, forehead in wrinkles and the grey of his hair standing out more than usual. “You already can do so much better than some adult witches and wizards.” He adds just to lighten the suffocating venom that is left behind a dementor, laced with the most negative of memories of each and every person.

Harry doesn’t even protest. He accepts the end of the lesson with relief. Though frustration at his inability to _do this right_ seeps into the tips of his fingers and makes small sparks fly out of his wand. The boy glares at the yellow spasms of light and wishes his patronus were stronger, better, _easier_ to understand and cast.

“Maybe I’m using the wrong memory?” He mumbles quietly, eyes still glued to his clammy fingers. “But how can I know which is the right one.” It’s a double-edged sword either way. A shield even with not quite the right memory.

Remus pats Harry on the shoulder (and his hand is _so warm_ ) and pushes a box of chocolate frogs in the boy’s hands. “It’s not about a right or wrong memory, pup. It’s about the emotions that come along with it. Joy, happiness, love. Something positive enough to counter the negative.”

Later that evening harry goes to bed still feeling like he doesn’t get it. The memories of when Regulus took him away from the Dursleys, the memories of finally being able to see his father alive, the first time he felt truly loved and appreciated… accepted. Maybe it had to be the simplest of things, ones that had no shadow of the bad lingering behind them?

…

It’s cold, the crisp spring morning, when everything goes from okay to worse. Even with the threat of Bellatrix hanging over his head, Harry cannot take it anymore. The castle was too big and too small at the same time, the gossip and student-made plots too loud for his ears. He needs to get out and so he does, using the invisibility cloak and the Marauder’s Map as his guides and help the boy reaches the still wet-from-dew grass and grey morning sky.

The next thing he knows, Harry can feel strange and wild magic clutching onto him, pulling him into the Forbidden Forest. An _accio_ , but not quite. He struggles and wishes his mouth could produce sounds, but a spell has robbed him of this chance.

The eerily black trees hiss and Harry knows this is Bellatrix. No one else could have magic this cold and this mad – the feel and taste of it sends shivers down his spine _and how does he even feel these things_? The spells are only broken once he’s in a lighted-up clearing, where white frost dances along the grass and bloomed flowers.

Bellatrix (mad, mad Bellatrix) stands on the other side, her rotten teeth out for the world to see. It’s like seeing a wild animal, ready to kill and tear, no better than a mindless beast. Azkaban does this to human beings; Sirius said after getting out of there, it changes them so much they forget who they even are. Old magic, black magic, powerful magic. Nothing can stop it from shaping the victims any way it pleases, especially when dementors are there to help it along the way.

“Little boy, little baby Black. My _family_.” Bellatrix laughs high and pitched, her chest heaving. “Siri sure has outdone himself. Just _look_ at _those eyes_. That mudblood gave you the only good thing about her. Good, good.” She coos, hands fisted in her untamed hair.

Harry wants to lash out and tell her to shut up, but knows to keep his mouth closed and anger to himself. He was thirteen and knew next to nothing about dueling, real spells. Bellatrix had years under her belt of Dark magic, skills that no one else seems to possess. One of the best of her age, of her generation.

She slashes out with her wand so suddenly Harry cannot follow. He jumps out of the purple spell’s way, it nicks his leg and blood blooms onto pale skin and dark school robes. Bellatrix tuts, as if she were a displeased mother. “What a waste! And this little rat defeated my Lord! You little weakling could bring down my all-powerful Lord!”

“I did yeah. Imagine that, a one year old managed to kill that thing.” Harry laughs at her with false bravado and does not stop moving. Reflexes matter now, spells can come later. “He wasn’t so tough after all, that wannabe lord of yours.”

Bellatrix shrieks again – ragerage _rage_! “How dare you, insolent little freak!” Her spells make the ground and trees blow up, the air to tighten in Harry’s lungs (as if he is drowning) and destroy everything. “Your filthy mouth speaking about my Lord! Filth, filth, _filth_!” She sounds like Sirius’ mother, in that abandoned house of Blacks. Only Bellatrix was locked in a stone cell, unable to do as much as lash out against those that seemed to be against her ideals.

It’s difficult, but Harry uses her rage and her uncontrolled power to sneak closer and shoot a spell from the Black libraries towards her. She dances away from it, but the tree that gets hit blows up and explodes from the inside out.

Dark magic was in his blood, just like it was in Sirius’, Regulus’ and Bellarix’s as well.

The woman opens her mouth to scream more, to curse and to damn the boy before her, but the sudden cold that settles around them freezes everything. It’s biting and _wrong_. It sucks away everything good and happy; it destroys the sun that peeks through the branches. Dementors flood around them like shadows, like Death itself.

Bellatrix screams of fear now, her body trembling like a leaf in the wind. “No! No, no, no, no! Not you again, not again! I escaped, I am _free_! You cannot touch me anymore, my Lord protects me! He loves me!” He screams grow in volume and her wand slashes at the creatures in vain. The incantations for the patronus slips from her lips, between the demands of her sanity and her love for Voldemort, but does not work.

Or course it does not.

Harry slips and falls, his breath cuts short. His patronus is a weak shadow of white, barely protecting him from the rotten flesh of the dementor’s hand. “Goddamn it!” The boy curses low and tries again and again, and again. Even so close to being kissed, Harry still notices Bellatrix’s fleeing form stumbling deeper into the woods as she runs away from the creatures - something white and incomplete, weak dances around her gaunt form.

He is alone and nothing works. The happy memories that come one after another are not enough, never enough. But then, so close to being kissed, Harry remembers of Regulus’ cold hands that felt so safe as they led him away from the Dursleys, the warmth of Sirius’s hugs, the safety of the Black cottage.

The white light that shines from his wand chases away every single one of the dementors. The pure white feline that stands before the boy, circles it in slow steps seems surreal and so, so beautiful. It’s lean and powerful, a predator.

Harry faints before he has a chance to figure out what it is.

…

It still seems surreal.

Harry wakes up in the infirmary, with his family by his side and the doors locked close. Sirius holds his hand tightly, his eyes turned towards the open windows and looking somewhere far away. Regulus reads a book, seemingly not present but his eyes move so much slower than usual over the printed letters on the worn pages.

“Dad?” Harry blinks slowly, his body sluggish and tired. The sound of his voice makes the two Black brothers look over at him immediately, relief spilling from the small smiles and quiet signs. “What happened?” He asks next, because he’s not sure himself.

“Bella happened. And your magic going overboard happened.” Sirius sounds tired, like he had not slept for days. Maybe he hasn’t. “Merlin, kid. I’ll go grey before I reach my forties if it continues like this, you hear me?” The joke falls flat, though, but Sirius does not seem to care.

Regulus gives his brother a weird look, as if judging him for joking at a time like this. Nothing unusual there, really. “You scared away all of the dementors that were on the school grounds, with a single patronus. Or so the centaurs told Remus, while he was searching the woods for Bellatrix. She escaped.” The man then reaches out to slide wild locks away from Harry’s face.

Harry doesn’t know what to say to any of that. He still doesn’t feel quite like himself, not even when his father makes him eat the rich chocolate. Perhaps it’s the feeling of helplessness from not being able to do anything against Bellatrix, or maybe it’s still the effect of dementors – Harry can’t tell. Not when he is so out of his own skin still.

“It was a big cat.” The boy says in the end, his energy somewhat back and worries about distant cousins pushed away for a later time. “My patronus. It was white and corporal, but I don’t know what kind. It was kind of hard to tell at the time.” He then munches on some more chocolate. The warmth returns in his fingertips and very being. Slowly but surely.

Regulus smiles and looks pleased; Sirius eyes his son with a judging eye. “Kid, you need to stop being so fast-advancing with your magic. Now I really do feel old as balls and kind of left behind.”

“Stop being melodramatic, Sirius. Honestly, have you no shame?” Regulus reaches over Harry’s bed to smack his older brother across the head. The two soon engage in a battle of insults (that is nothing more than jokes and teasing) while Harry laughs about the both of them.


	5. Year 4

Harry is fourteen. The summer is hot this year, sweltering and unpleasant. He spends his days going over the old books found in the Black libraries and writing letters to his friends and cousin. Hermione and Ron ask questions about summer plans and the Quidditch World Cup, Luna spins theories about his patronus animal and why the dementors are so interested in him. Tonks teases him about crushes relentlessly.

He is fourteen and he dreams of flashes of bright green and distorted realities where people die and are tortured. He is fourteen and world seems to get worse a little by little.

“Dad, am I weird?” Harry asks after another nightmare, with his fingers wrapped around a cup of steaming tea and eyes wild in the light of the fireplace. There are some things that never heal.

Sirius pulls the boy close to him, holds the teenager into his side and tries to rub away the stress. The fear and uncertainty are not as easy. He knows. the Blacks were never model parents. Much less people. “You’re not. You never were, never will be. You’ve just seen and lived too much.”

“I’m fourteen.” Harry says instead of anything else. Maybe the boggart way is the way to go about this as well? “I shouldn’t have had to.” But what else was he to do, if not fight through.

“No, you shouldn’t have.” Sirius agrees, because what else was there to say.

…

The Dark Mark casts an eerie glow on the fields before them, the screams echo across the broken and burned tents. Death Eaters march and jeer, remind of the war that ended (but not really). Harry doesn’t let go of his wand, nor does he stray from Regulus’ side.

Ron and Hermione had run away, with the Weasley siblings, into the forests behind them. Harry refused – bravery and fear in equal measures. Hard to tell which it is now, when he looks up at the mark that painted the sky with dark promises.

“Do not leave my side, Harry.” Regulus hisses low, his eyes dark and cold. Just like that day, years ago, when he had picked a starved and beaten child from the Dursley house. “If anything happens, cast first and ask questions afterwards. This is no time to be kind.”

And so Harry does. He already knows his body well, his spells and his own power (three years at Hogwarts, three years of fighting off death and curses cast in the hallways), so the second someone moves and wheezes out a laugh the boy murmurs a low _stupefy_ and flicks his wand with deadly precision. Remus would be proud, Sirius even more so.

Something shatters and a man laughs, high-pitched and crazy. The green light illuminates the caster’s form from behind, face hidden in shadows. The eyes, though, they gleam like torches. They remind Harry of Bellatrix’s wide-eyed stare from but a few months ago.

“ _Oh_ , who do I see? A traitor and the scum that stood in the way of the Dark Lord.” The voice should belong to the face of a young man, but there is a dose of pure hatred and madness lurking beneath. Shivers run down Harry’s skin. “No matter, my Lord will punish you accordingly.”

Regulus clicks his tongue and slashes his wand through the air. No words are said. The curse rips open the earth where the Death Eater had stood seconds ago. Now there is only emptiness and a lingering echo of an apparition crack.

…

“Black.” Draco stands in the open doors of Harry’s compartment. The Malfoy heir is no longer as pale as Harry remembers him to be, even throughout the whole of their third year the boy had walked around with a shadow of lifelessness hanging over the bony shoulders. “Mother told me to pass on her relief of your safe return from the World Cup.”

Harry stands up from where he had sat with an old book about wards in his hands. While there no longer is animosity between the two of them, the two cousins have yet to grow as close as their parents wished them to be. “Thank you. It is… _was_ good to hear that you and your father got out of there with no problems.” He still stumbles over his words at times, not yet fluent in this polite and acceptable speaking.

Hermione watches them both with narrowed eyes. She drums her fingers across the soft pillows of the seats mounted on the compartment walls.

Ron seems not quite sure _what_ to do. While his family’s feud against Draco’s is still in order; this _is_ also his best friend’s relative, _family_. Duties and proper way of acting - Weasleys had never thought too deep about these things.

Draco’s nose wrinkles slightly. It is as if the boy is unsure (or, perhaps, annoyed by something) on how to act now. In the end the Malfoy heir nods and tightens his hold on the polished wood of the sliding doors. “Well then, I will be leaving. I suppose this year will be much more interesting than the last, with the whole _tournament_ on the way.”

“Unless something happens, as each year.” Harry’s smile twitches at that, however it does not quite reach his eyes. But it is better than nothing. “See you… at school.” The goodbyes are awkward as well, uncomfortable and not quite able to hide the unwillingness to meet again.

With Malfoy gone Ron relaxes in his seat and stretches out his legs. “Well, that was bloody weird.”

Hermione says nothing, but her eyes are sharp as she does not blink while watching Harry move about their compartment. There were old customs and rules in play right now, things that the girl still did not understood. Harry just sat down and closed his eyes, tired already.

…

“--- that this year our school will be hosting the _Triwizard Tournament_!” Dumbledore raises his arms above his head; an excited smile is hidden beneath the tumbles of his long beard. “Therefore, there will not be a quidditch tournament this year. _Calm down_ everyone.”

A vibration of murmurs and whispers passes through the Hall. Children of all ages, save for the first year muggle-borns, chatter between themselves in a steadily growing excitement. They know about the Tournament, they had heard about it from stories and history books, from old family members that still remembered them.

And now there was a chance to _see_ for themselves. To meet students from others schools, to befriend and to _learn_ even more of what they can about this world. Some have the chance to meet old friends, cousins living in a different country.

Harry laughs and cheers with the rest of the student population, the vibrating energy that pulses through the huge room is an instant wake up call to all those that had been nodding off. The new professor for DADA watches over the lot of them, his magical eye a blur in the speed it moves over every single smiling face and moving child.

“Finally, maybe this year I can just, you know, be a student.” Harry snickers as they all stand up to head to their dorms, the laughter still louder than the prefects, who try to heard the confused packs of first years.

Seamus elbows Harry in the side, wiggles his eyebrows in a manner most suggestive. “ _Oho_ , is that longing I hear? Wanna be _boring_ like the rest of us, oh, Mister Black?” The boy snorts an unattractive laugh and slides his arm over Harry’s shoulders as they walk towards the moving stairs.

“Like _you_ count as boring? How many toilets have you blown up so far?” Harry shoots back. The way he so casually let’s this piece of inside knowledge drop when they pass Percy (who, in turn, whips around to direct a narrow-eyed glare at the fourth year boys) is very _Regulus_ and _Slytherin_.

“Oi, oi, ya mainland fairy, don’t go besmirching my good name like that!” Seamus places his hand on his heart, winks to Thomas and Ron, who both try very hard not to trip over the steps as they laugh. “I am a honest man, work undercover. Admit to nothing.”

Hermione passes them all in a huff, muttering something about _stupid boys_ and _if only they used this imagination in studies_. It’s all very normal, for once.

…

Moody is gruff, strict in the way he teaches and the way he expects them to be _ready_ , to _listen_ and to _learn_. Constant vigilance! Sirius told Harry about the old auror during summer, laughing with the memories of how he was tormented while training and constantly scolded by not being good enough, fast enough, vigilant enough.

“ _Imperio_ turns you all into mindless, drooling _puppets_. _Crucio_ makes you wish you rather be killed on the spot, since that is much better than the pain of every nerve on your body being on fire. _Avada Kedavra_ kills you on the spot. Well, anyone except the one wonder child sitting in this room.” Moody’s fake eye swirls to lock onto Harry. A stifling silence follows. “I’m telling you this because _you need to know_. Because the Ministry thinks it’s all over simply because one Dark Lord is gone, as if there ain’t other evil wizards out there.”

The Imperius Curse feels like Harry is simply floating somewhere. There are no more worries, no more things to care about. All he needs to do is listen to the small voice at the back of his head, follow the instructions.

_Jump on the table_ , the voice whispers, like a lullaby in his ears. So Harry bends his knees and get’s ready to jump; only something makes him stop. _Why should I_ , he asks back, confused and conflicted, unwilling to follow something he doesn’t know. The voice only gets more insistent, more demanding that the order is followed.

In the end Harry’s knees hurt with a dull pain, since he had tried to jump and also to stop at the same time. The table was hard, the floor even more so.

Moody looks positively gleeful, his scarred mouth morphs into a predatory grin as he gestures at Harry. “Look at this one! He resisted, used that useless thing you lot call a brain. Sure, he gave in, but he tried to fight back. Good, good. Stand up, Black. You’ll go again!”

It’s more than only Harry’s knees that hurt at the end of the lesson. But his resistance to the curse has grown.

…

Beaubaxtons Academy of Magic waltzes into the castle in twirls of smooth silk uniforms colored a periwinkle blue. There are carefully stitched flowers adorning the skirts and jackets of the girls’ uniforms, snow white lilies and irises, paired with the lone peony. Harry spots pale yellow daffodils decorating the jacket of the girl that had taken away the breath and mind of both boys and girls that looked her way.

The boys of Beaubaxtons wear clothes of the same material, in the same color. Only their pants have not been touched, only the jackets adore motifs of animals and trees, sometimes a family coat of arms is hidden between the furs of the animals or the tree leaves and branches.

The girls and boys of Durmstrang Institute march all the way to the seats of their choosing. Their heavy wool uniforms are a bright red against the soft-looking furs lining the collar and the ends of their coats, where it stops around their knees.

The girls all wear the same type of pants as the boys; only theirs seem to be more fitted, as well as the long jacket underneath the coats. There is no decoration apart from the different animal furs, only the school coat of arms on their jackets, over their heart and, under that, family coat of arms.

They were nothing compared to Hogwarts’ black robes – baggy and plain as they were, with only some small splashes of color to see which house one belongs to.

“Holy Merlin’s balls, that’s Viktor Krum! _Harry_! Harry, do you see what I see? That is bloody Viktor Krum.” Ron shakes Harry so hard the other boy can barely see anything anymore. The redhead simply continues to choke on his own breath.

Harry’s glasses fall into his bowl of soup. Hermione clucks her tongue and fishes them out with her wand. “Ron, _honestly_. Have some class or, I don’t know, _dignity_. We are the representatives of Hogwarts and you act like a girl with a crush.” The girl swishes her wand in the air and mutters a cleaning spell.

“Like you did when you had that crush on Lockhart?” Harry quips quietly, with a _thanks_ for his saved glasses. There is a small smile playing on his lips, mischief palpable.

Ron snorts next to the Black heir and grins unashamed. “I admit to my fangirl tendencies and I am not ashamed of what they might or might not imply. Krum has an amazing backside; even you can’t deny that, Hermione.”

…

All Hollow’s Eve comes with bats flying across the heads of the gathered students. Pumpkins sit on the table edges, grinning wildly and the light inside of them fluttering with every gust of the wind. The candles that float above their heads cast eerie shadows above them all.

“Those French kids don’t seem to like any of this too much, do they?” Ron pulls towards himself a dish of some Bulgarian food ( _musaka_ , Hermione points out as she gets some for herself as well). “Think they just don’t like the holiday or the decoration?”

Hermione narrows her eyes on Ron, since he speaks with his mouth full of food, before sighing in defeat. “I heard some of them say they just don’t like Hogwarts in general. Too _heavy_ , or something like that. And the food isn’t to their tastes.”

Soon the lights dim and a hush falls upon everyone gathered in the Great Hall. Dumbledore stands and walks over to the Goblet of Fire, his hands clasped behind his back. “Students of Hogwarts, dear guests of Beaubaxtons and Durmstrang! Finally it is time to get to know the three champions of the Triwizard Tournament.”

Claps fill the silence and Harry leans closer to Ron, “Still think it’s going to be someone from us lions that get’s in there?” His grin is small but no less amused and mischievous.

“ _’Course_. Angelina put her name in there, you know. She could drop kick us all, if she wanted to.” Ron then turns a sly glance over to Harry, all wicked amusement. “What, you want the Hufflepuff handsome boy, or maybe Warringotn?”

“Diggory _is_ pretty handsome.” Harry simply says, finally getting back to paying attention to what the headmaster is saying. The rules have already been told to them, once again, and now a champion from each school is about to be chosen.

The goblet burns bright blue and a small, slightly burnt, piece of paper lands in Dumbledore’s outstretched hand. “The champion of Beaubaxtons will be Miss Fleur Delacour!”

The ovations from the French students are loud and elated. The girl with the yellow daffodil jacket stands up elegantly and slides towards the antechamber she is directed to. Her silver hair wave behind her, her smile makes Harry’s breath stutter (and he is not the only one).

“Now, the next champion,” Dumbledore catches the next piece of paper once there is silence again, “is Mister Viktor Krum, for Durmstrang Institute!” The old headmaster claps with the rest of the students as the bulky quidditch star makes his way towards the antechamber.

Dumbledore smiles as the last of the claps die down and turns towards the Goblet of Fire. “Now, the last champion, for Hogwarts is,” once more a burnt piece of paper flutters down gently and students of Hogwarts wait anxiously for the results. “Mister Cedric Diggory!”

Next follows a brief explanation of what happens now and the first task, however a sudden hush once again falls upon the hall when the goblet burns bright blue once again and a fourth piece of paper falls from its flames. Dumbledore takes it gently, a furrow between his brows as he reads the name of the student written on it.

_Harry Black._

…

“What do you mean an _unbreakable vow_?” Sirius stands behind the chair Harry sits in, his hands on his son’s shoulders. “That isn’t even his handwriting, so how can he be forced into this?” The magic simmering under the man’s skin is tangible, almost. The glass doors of Dumbledore’s bookcases shake.

Regulus keeps his eyes on Crouch and Bagman, the two in charge of this whole fiasco. The younger of the two Black brothers doesn’t blink as he stares them both down, ignoring the grumbling and displeased clicks of tongue coming from Mad-Eye.

Harry can tell his uncle is displeased. Regulus’ body language and eyes are the same as the day the man had come to take him away from the Dursley home, the same as they had been on the day of the Quidditch Championship.

“It means, if his name came out of the cup, he needs to compete. Or lose his magic. Those are the rules of the Cup.” Crouch looks tired in the dancing candle-lights, his skin a sickly white and fingers in a constant movement against his folded arms. “Black needs to compete.”

Regulus blinks once, raises his chin just a bit. It’s enough to look down his nose at the man who had thrown Sirius in Azkaban with no trial, and who had been harsh towards Regulus’ best friend, a long time ago. “Harry is underage; he _could not_ cross the line to enter even if we wanted to. And his guardian does not allow him to compete. _Exceptions_ like that _are_ in the rules, or did you miss those as well.” The smile of Regulus’ face could cut diamonds.

Crouch swallows loudly. His face crunches into a grimace most ugly and cold. “Someone tampered with them, as I told you all when we first started this _useless_ discussion. The _boy_ is in a magically binding contract and so he must compete.”

Sirius grips Harry’s shoulders tightly. “What does competing entail, exactly? Harry needs to show up for the tasks and finish them? Does it say _how_ he needs to finish?” The old genius behind the Marauders’ pranks and the map seems to have awakened. Sirius knows that details are in the fine prints and things not specified.

Dumbledore stays quiet throughout the whole thing, his eyebrows furrowed in thought and fingers laced before his eyes. “I believe, Sirius, that Harry must simply _be_ there for the tasks and make an _attempt_ , as all the champions.” It is in the details, the wording. For once the Black brothers do not show animosity towards the old headmaster.

…

The backlash is, as expected, horrible. But Harry does not hide behind his family’s name and power – instead the young teenager walks with his head held high and does not give in to the sneers and the mocking. Slytherins have made badges that pronounce him the false champion of Hogwarts, which also display proudly their support of Cedric.

Draco is not wearing one, but neither was the Malfoy heir attempting to stop other from doing so. As far as their relationship went it was a rather supportive action.

Harry sits by the lakeside, away from the whispers and the jeers, away from the _stares_. He feels angry, angrier than he had ever been. Instead of his friends (though, who knew what Ron was to him right now, after their fight) it’s Luna who glides over and sits with her side pressed against Harry’s.

“The nargles seem to have taken over your head, Harry. That is not good, I’m afraid.” She lays her head on the boy’s shoulder and sighs heavily, as if she were tired of the whole world. Harry shares the feeling, really. “I don’t think radishes will help this time.”

Despite everything - the anger, the annoyance, the _hurt_ \- Harry laughs, even if it’s quiet and barely a whisper of a sound. “That’s okay. I’ll figure something out. I always do.” Half truth in a way, but what else does he have at this moment?

Luna pats his knee, as of one would tell their son _don’t worry, kid, that’s the way life just is_. It’s all very amusing. “True, you are a very smart boy. Ronald will also come around; you will just need to know how to do the forgetting part. Not that I know, I haven’t had the chance to forgive and forget myself.”

It’s refreshing, talking to someone who doesn’t care about the Tournament, about Harry’s new and dubious fame. Luna is simply there to talk with him, in her own peculiar way. Something heavy lifts from Harry’s shoulders and he breathes out, once. Luna’s hair smells like citrus.

“Oh, the nargles have lessened. Now that is nice.” Luna smiles, her cork earrings swishing as she straightens out and waves her hand above Harry’s head. “You might just make it, Harry. Though, I don’t recommend swimming in the lake. I heard the squid is rather taken with black haired individuals and you make a rather poor princess.”

This time Harry’s laughter is bright and loud, carrying over the lake’s still water and the neatly mowed lawn in clear echoes. It has been days since he last laughed. Luna simply pats his hand in a camaraderie most serious.

…

The Wand weighing ceremony passes. Rita Skeeter writes an article that is mostly just a rerun of Harry’s life. His mother and uncle, the death of Voldemort, the father that turned out to be innocent, traitorous Peter… And now Harry is after the fame and riches of the Tournament, always wanting to be in the middle of the attention.

There is barely a word about any of the other three (the rightful, the true) champions.

In a fit of teenage anger Harry burns the _Daily Prophet_ during breakfast and leaves, looking for a moment of peace with Hagrid and Fang, away from the rest of the school and judging eyes. Classes can wait one day, maybe Hermione will be forgiving just this once (she usually is, even if annoyed).

It is there that Hagrid lets out the secret of the first task, between warm tea and hard cakes. There were rules, of course, that made it impossible to tell face to face, but who could help it if Harry pieces together the bigger picture from the small hints his giant friend makes.

“Now, ya don’ go tellin’ none else, ‘Arry. Bad manners, tha’.” Hagrid smiles and it is a sneaky thing, hidden between the black curls of the man’s beard. Like a secret they share together, an inside joke. “Run back now, I betcha they be worried ‘bout ya. An’ Ron’ll come back. Trust me.”

Next day Harry ignores the jeers as he walks up to Cedric, his head held high and pride of the Blacks (the pride that made others fear and respect them, the pride that conquered and destroyed the enemy) soaked ever step that he took. He doesn’t know if the other two know, but between Hogwarts there will be equality.

“It’s okay guys, go on. I’ll be fine.” Cedric smiles at his friends, waves them away. The Hufflepuff is tall, his hair just this side of messy that looks deliberate and falls into his eyes in a charming sort of way. The yellow suits him. “So, Black. Did you need something?” A polite inquiry, if not suspicious and distrustful, even a little.

Harry breathes in, breathes out. There was still the sting of anger inside of him towards anyone that took all of _this_ seriously. “Dragons.” The boy says instead of the biting _aren’t you better than this_ that sits on his tongue. “For the first task.”

Shock plays on Cedric’s face, an ashen look settles on his cheeks and faint freckles stand out at the tip of his nose. Harry looks away, makes his eyes settle on the windowpanes behind the sixth year’s back rather than the other’s face. “It’s only fair that you know.”

He then turns to leave, as well as to hide the warmth that had settled on his cheeks. Cedric stops him with a quiet choke of his name. “I--.. Thank you, for telling me. And, _uh_ , I asked my friends and everyone else at the ‘puff house to drop the badges.” It’s like an echo of something else, but Harry takes what he gets with a thankful smile and a _see you later, then_.

…

The arena is scorching hot. The roar of the crowds deafening. The dragon… The dragon rumbles with a deep hiss of smoke and fumes, with fire that already licks the stones by her feet.

Harry takes a deep breath looks up, to the stands where his family sits. There is strength and courage that grows stronger with the support that does not waver. It’s a reassuring thing, especially so when Hermione, Luna and the twins sit by Sirius, Regulus and Remus, all holding in their hands the signs that shine Gryffindor red with _shock them speechless_.

The boy laughs and raises his wand high up in the air. The red sparks of surrender come easy, almost too simple and too good of a _fuck you_ to whoever put his name in the goblet and to the judges that sit there, judging his mistakes.

Walking away is even easier, his footsteps echo into the silence of the arena. The dragon mother roars with fire and ire.

…

Ron refuses to look Harry in the eyes. Not that Harry doesn’t understand, he’s felt that kind of shame far more times in his life so far to forget it so easily. There is no celebration for an egg caught and no Gryffindor party in his honor. The house had understood, but not quite, in the end. The common room is quiet. Only the firelight cracked and spluttered as the dried wood burned up.

Hermione sits and watches them both, her bottom lip bitten an angry red.

“I’m sorry, about… Well, about everything.” Ron finally says, back straight and gaze settled onto Harry, finally. There is house bravery and pride running along the redhead’s spine, since apologies needed those as well. “I should have known better. But I was also… jealous. Because, you know…”

Harry doesn’t quite smile, but he is relieved. What Luna had said, back at the lake, is true. He forgives, but he will not forget for a bit longer. He’s learned to hold grudges, even if they are quiet and passive. “We’re friends. We’re supposed to fight. It’s not okay, but I get it.”

Hermione starts crying, her face becomes blotchy and her voice hitches as she tries to get her words out. The two boys startle so much, they have nothing to say. “ _Idiots_! Th-the-the both of you. _Boys_!” She pulls them both into a hug anyway.

“Why are _you_ crying?” Ron sounds breathless, still hanging onto the surprise. But his palm is gentle as it settles on the girl’s head and pats slowly the erratic brown curls. “Come on, don’t be such a girl. It’s okay now?”

Harry snickers into Hermione’s other shoulder and simply pats her back in a show of brotherly fashion.  “Really Hermione, I get crying over me, but Ron really isn’t worth it.” The jab in his side is earned, but not as hard as it once was.

“ _God_ , you are bo-both so _stupid_. I ca-can’t believe it took you this long to ge-get over yourselves. Especially you, dumb We-Weasley.” Hermione leans back and wipes her eyes with the sleeve of her robes, her breath still not quite as calm as usually. There is a smile on her lips, though, happy with relief.

Ron just shrugs uncomfortably. Harry leans back and enjoys the moment of friendship.

…

There is still speculation about Harry smuggling his own name into the Cup, just as there are the badges that promote Cedric as the true champion. But there is less of those after the stunt with the dragon.

The Yule Ball looms over the horizon now, somehow even more threatening than everything else that Harry had seen and done beforehand. The girls keep walking around in small packs, giggling and looking pointedly at the boys, their whispers shifty and plotting. Harry would have rather taken on the dragon, had his father and uncles allowed him to do so.

“It’s not that hard, kid. Just be your charming self, don’t say anything that Regulus here would say and try not to trip in front of her. You’re a Black; you’re as handsome as I am, who could say no to that?” Sirius tells him one evening, thought the mirror. And then gets a slap at the back of his head from Regulus.

Still. The girls and the packs. Harry finds his eyes lingering on a few girls, even more so on Cho Chang, with her silent beauty and soft way of talking. The way the girl laughed, holding a hand in front of her mouth. The way her eyes shone in sunlight. But, no, she was already with Cedric – Harry had asked Luna about it early on.

The crush lingered on, however. (And let’s not talk about the way Harry’s cheeks heated whenever Cedric smiled at him in that friendly manner.)

Luna is leaning against Harry’s side once again and hums a melody the boy has not heard before. They are at the Gryffindor table, Rom and Hermione sitting at the other side, both immersed in the newest gossip printed in the _Daily Prophet_. Today there are texts on the whys and hows of Regulus still being single, polls of the success and possible win of the tournament

“Oh, that’s right. I almost forgot, silly me.” Luna blinks awake and puts down her cup of hot cocoa. Her smile is wide and her eyes are impossibly large as she leans in Harry’s face and cups his face in her warm palms. A few kids around them turn to stare. “Harry Muliphen James Black, will you go to the ball with me? As friends, of course, I don’t like you as a dating partner just yet. We need to wait for the fey blessings to advance in that way.”

Harry can see Hermione quietly repeating the last part of Luna’s statement from the corner of his eyes. His friend seems very confused and is about to protest everything Luna had said, but Ron’s hand on her mouth stops her from doing so.

Gently the teenager places his own slightly chilly palms on Luna’s cheeks. “Luna Pandora Lovegood, I would be honored to.” Harry grins, all charm and casual elegance leaned from Sirius and Regulus. “I’m sorry I don’t have any flowers to give you. If you would be so kind to wait until later today, I will gift you some.”

“Don’t be silly, Harry. I asked you, I should be giving _you_ the flowers. Don’t mess up the way of doing things.” Luna leans even closer still and kisses Harry’s nose. She then pats his cheeks twice and pulls a flower crown from the depths of her bag. It’s woven from dark purple flowers, intertwined with silver strings. “Ah, you really do look lovely in it.”

Harry spends the rest of the day with this flower crown upon his head, later he even places a spell on it to make sure it lasts a while. The gossip spreads in just a few hours, the whole castle soon aware of Luna’s proposal and Harry’s answer to her.

…

Luna wears a beautiful dress to the Yule Ball. It’s long, sliding along the floor as she walks, the top made of white lace and shines like snow in the light. At the waist it ends with a white belt and down below continues as dark blue material that Harry does not know the name of. She looks like a winter princess, her hair done up in a bun at the nape of her neck, woven through with braids.

Harry wears a simple suit in black, with neatly pressed pants and shined shoes. The jacket fits snugly on his shoulders, the Black House coat of arms an unassuming decoration to the vest the teen wears under it. His hair is slicked back, with just a few strands left to fall along the sides of his face.

“It is such a lovely party.”  Luna giggles as they slowly waltz to the opening song. Her eyes are closed and she easily follows Harry’s lead, the blue crystals of her earrings swaying with the movements. “I’m glad I decided to ask you, Harry. Thank you for agreeing.”

Harry allows his eyes to stray to Cho and Cedric, if only just for a moment. “Oh, on the contrary, I am glad you asked me. It would be such a shame for me to show up without a partner.” He twirls the two of them in a circle, smiling at the image of Viktor and Hermione whispering as they sway gently.

Luna opens her eyes and tilts her head in thought. Her lips purse as she narrows her gaze somewhere between Harry’s eyebrows. “But it would be such an amusing thing to do. Like with the dragon, just a different message to read through.”

As the songs change Luna drags Harry off the dance floor and towards the tables piled with food and drink. Ron, who had decided to come stag, is already there, chatting with a boy from Durmstrang, who had also come alone, about quidditch moves and strategies. Soon after Viktor and Hermione join them, the two champions taking the time to properly get to know each other and share stories.

Cedric comes along soon enough, a flushed Cho hanging on his arm and laughing in the palm of her hand. Harry still feels a little bit awkward around the two of them, not quite sure _which of the two_ he feels more flustered by. But soon there worries forgotten and they all laugh and joke about the tasks and different foods served during the meals.

Luna places a kiss on top of Harry’s cheekbone at the end of the night. Her eyes are drooping just slightly, her hair no longer brought all together. “I had a fun night. The star gods were on our side this time. And your dancing was quite something; although I am rater fond of the African rain dances myself.”

“I enjoyed myself greatly as well, all thanks you, Luna. Even if it wasn’t quite African enough.” Harry places a small kiss on the back of Luna’s hand, as proper gentleman must do after escorting his Lady back home (even if it was the Ravenclaw common room in this case.)

Luna sways on the balls of her feet as she hums quietly once more. “Indeed. Now, don’t you worry, Harry, it’s quite alright for you to find them both physically appealing. Nothing wrong with that.” She smiles dreamily and then leaves the boy alone in the empty corridor.

Harry blinks after her, a bit confused and quite taken aback, before the laughter takes over. Of course Luna would know, of course.

…

Cedric pulls Harry into a shadowy hallway one day, a month after the ball. There aren’t any other students around and their steps echo against the stone walls. Harry blinks, startled, but follows the other teenager anyway. He’s too tired to protest anyway, since another night had been spent dreaming of Voldemort’s ire and flashes of green.

“I’m here to return the favor, nothing else.” Cedric grins in an easy manner, there are dimples on his cheeks. “My Hufflepuff honor, and all that, is demanding me to repay for your help with the dragons.” The elder teenager then reaches out to push strands of hair behind his ear.

It’s somehow a little adorable and Harry backtracks that thought immediately.

Instead the young Black smiles and pushes his hands in the pockets of his robes. “Oh really? Even though I’m doing all this just for, what was it, the show and extra attention it can bring to my already fallen family?” It’s easy to quote the _Daily Prophet_ now, when there is a plan made to play by.

“Please, like you Blacks need more publicity.” Cedric jokes just as easily. He then pulls out the golden egg from his bag and weights it in his hands. “So, anyway, I know you didn’t get this thing, so telling you what to do with it would be useless. Instead, I’ll let you know the clue, that should work, right?”

And so Harry listens how the egg _howls_ when opened and how it _sings_ once it’s put under water, he writes down the clue that was sung in a language not understood by men. Unless of course, one knew mermish. Dragons and merfolk, though, couldn’t have something more of a polar opposite if they wanted to.

At the end of it all, Harry sits on the stone floor and scowls up at the dusty ceiling. “This kind of really sucks.” The teenager admits. An hour under the water, to rescue something he precious stolen from him. And who knows if he can get it back, after the allotted time has ended. “Really fucking sucks.”

“Oooh, _language_.” Cedric shakes his finger in Harry’s direction, his prefect badge shining dimly in the flickering lights of the torches. “I’ll have to take off points, Mister Black. Even if I _do_ share the sentiment.”

…

Remus drums his fingers along the book of spells he has in his lap. His forehead is furrowed in thought, a couple of grey and light brown hairs have fallen in front of his eyes. “If it’s spells we’re talking about, then the bubble head charm. Transfiguration also works. They are a bit tricky to master, however.”

“Gillyweed, then? Those are easy to get and do not require spells to use, Harry can even take a couple with him when he dives in the lake.” Regulus looks calm this time around. He’s sitting in one of the wingback chairs with his eyes closed and a glass of wine held loosely between his fingers. “We order a couple now and everything should be ready in time.”

Harry looks between all three of his guardians, confused like never before. “So… I take part in this one? I thought I will just give up at the start of all three of them.” At least, that had been what Sirius, Regulus and Remus had decided he should do.

Sirius waves his hand in front of himself, a bit grim and tired, with shadows under his eyes still. “Compared to battling dragons this seem… okay. And that riddle that the Diggory kid gave you is worrying us. What if whatever you hold precious is just left there? Better do this one, pup, it’s just swimming.”

“And you know how to take care of the underwater creatures found in the lake. I taught you myself last year, I should know.” Remus chuckles lightly. But the hold he has on the book has not lessened in the least. No matter how sure they were, how much they prepared, it was still worrying and frightening.

Harry squints at them, but then decides to just go with what he was being told to do. After all, adults knew better, especially these three. “Well, okay. I’ll try to figure out what they might take in the mean while. And practice some spells.”

“You better.” Regulus opens his eyes and looks at his nephew. “I would think it obvious you prepare either way. Someone smuggled you into this idiocy, who knows what will happen.”

…

Harry saves his hostage last, but it means nothing to him. Luna is lazily swimming next to him and the little French girl has an iron grip around Harry’s arm. She’s shivering and crying, her blond hair stuck to her blue lips and eyes wide with fear.

“It’s okay now, it’s okay.” Harry doesn’t know if his words help at all, but he keeps repeating them anyway. He is freezing as well and some of his blood paints the water a murky red as they slowly move towards the shore. The merfolk had not liked him taking two hostages, but the teen just could not leave the little girl behind.

“She is brave. And you were our knight in shining armor. Romantic, even if I do have slimy seaweed stuck in my hair now.” Luna swims faster than Harry, who his hands full of a frightened girl. The Ravenclaw reaches the shallow parts first and accepts the hot chocolate and towel. “But really, it was quite rude to just tie us up like that. Not very princess like.”

Harry shivers even more so as he also steps out of the water, bringing the little French girl with him. He is, however, immediately enveloped in a hug, his face buried in silvery hair and the aroma of daffodils. “Thank you! Thank you so much! You saved my little sister, even though she was not yours to save*!” Fleur’s face was beautiful even when tear stained and rubbed scarlet red from worry.

“Anyone would have done it.” Harry barely manages to reply before the girl is gone, this time holding her sister so tightly and close to her as if the other might be taken away again. Harry smiles as Hermione pulls him away.

He sits by Luna, Hermione and Viktor, all of them shivering and trying to soak up as much warmth from the fluffy towels as possible. Hermione is leaning against Viktor’s broad shoulder, talking with the other boy in quiet whispers about the magic performed and how it had looked down there, in the lake.

Ron comes down to meet them, flushed from excitement and the rush to get down from the stands. “Good thing it wasn’t me down there, looked bloody weird on the projections. No offence, Luna, but rather you than me.”

The girl just laughs and pats Ron on the hand. “There, there. You’re still specious to Harry, don’t worry Ronald. They just thought we’re dating since we went to the ball together. Rather silly of them. We have yet to receive the fey blessings, after all.” She flicks a rather fat bug away from Hermione’s hair as she speaks, lost in her own world once more.

“Well… Fancy to know that.” Ron looks slightly confused, but happy still. “You got the lowest score, mate, despite your bravery and whatnot. Judges thought your performance was sloppy.”

Harry laughs and brings both Hermione and Viktor out of their conversation with the sound. “Well, who cares anyway? I don’t want to win in the first place. Good luck, Viktor!” He slaps the Bulgarian on a (very muscular) bicep and then stands to go with Ron and Luna back to the castle.

…

The article in _Which Weekly_ that follows after the second task is full of Skeeter’s romance fairytales about Viktor’s and Hermione’s new and heated love, a relationship triangle between Harry, Ron and Luna, as well as just small notes about how Cedric and Cho now had to fight for the place of the hottest couple in Hogwarts. Fleur was not mentioned at all, except for the picture where she could be seen hugging Harry.

It is the night after the article comes out that Harry wakes up in the middle of the night, sweaty and confused. He remembers the dream he had vividly enough. The steamy comfort of the prefect’s bathroom, warm water and foam, and two _very naked_ people in there with him – it had all seemed far too real and far too good.

The next day Harry avoids even looking in the directions of both Cho and Cedric. His face burns and he constantly puts up a charm to hide the vibrant blush that has settled on his cheeks. It’s as mortifying and embarrassing, as it is an eye reveal. Luna had been right all along, of course. Still… This avoidance and constant blushing had to end.

“I am eternally grateful you came to me and not your father. That would have been nothing but horror for you and endless nonsense from Sirius.” Regulus is calm and entirely not surprised about Harry’s mild sexuality crisis as he answers the teenager’s mirror call that evening. “Now, unlike some others might tell you, it’s normal to like whoever you like---”

The next evening Harry gets a call from Remus.

“Oh, hi Remus. Did something happen?” Harry props the mirror against his headboard, on the pillow, while he tries to pin his hair out of his eyes. With the length that it was now the boy was starting to get annoyed with strands constantly falling into his field of vision.

Remus chuckles in good humor. “Not at all. Just here to share with you some of your dad’s dating failures as a follow up for the talk you had with Regulus yesterday. It seemed, how should I say, fitting revenge for the pigtails I had to wear for the past week.” Let it not be said that Remus was not a vindictive opponent.

…

The four of them and Bagman stand before what was once the quidditch pitch and now is slowly becoming the battle ground of the third task. A maze is growing before them, soon to be the height of the forest trees, if not more so.

Fleur shivers in the cold wind as Bagman leaves the four champions. “It eez very cold here. I ‘ope zat it eez warm on ze day of ze task. And no rain.” She accepts the heavy coat Viktor hands her with a grateful smile on her lips. The veela allure still sings and shines even in the dusk of evening.

“Now that is just stereotypical and rude. It’s not always just cold and rainy here; it’s also warm and rainy.” Cedric plays the offended native very well. His lips are pulled into an over-exaggerated pout and hands placed on his hips. “French and their summers, _honestly_.”

Harry snickers behind his hand, shoulder shaking from the way Fleur narrows her eyes at the Hufflepuff prefect. There is something wicked dancing in her gaze. “You should add a bit more _character_ to zat in order a good girl, pretty boy.” She says with a dainty wave of her hand.

“You should come to Bulgaria. You vould become an icicle and no veela blood will help you.” Viktor nods with a played-up seriousness. His brows furrow when he stands next to Cedric and gives Fleur, who still wrapped in his own jacket, a pitying look. “Very bad for skin. The cold.”

Fleur huffs with mock hurt, one hand on her chest. “How _dare_.” She gasps, although she can’t stop the laugh that follows soon after. “To go for a lady’s skin! Savage.”

“I see how it is, two against one. Not gentlemanly at all.” Harry quickly takes a hold of one of Fleur’s hands and keeps it in his own. None of them know what they are even talking about _now_ , but it’s fun and that is all that matters. “Worry not, my lady, I will stand by you and keep you warm.  With _magic_.”  The teenager whispers the word as if it’s something secret and unknown.

The French girl leans against Harry, braces her whole weight on his shoulders and hangs off of them. Like a true damsel in distress. “See! Now _zat_ is how you should treat the poor me! A true man! And he does not even have a beard yet.” She pats Harry’s cheek for emphasis.

Cedric, not one to be outdone in drama, wraps his arms around Viktor’s bicep and flutters his eyelashes at the other two. “ _Harry_! You betrayer! Have you forsaken our Hogwarts, our rainy lands of cold? _Unbelievable_.”

“That is the curse of a voman. To be young and veak, such shame.” Viktor pats Cedric on the head, like one would do to a child.

Seconds tick by and then all four of them simply fall apart in a laughing mess, too amused by everything that had just happened. They snicker about one thing or another when a rustle from the trees shakes them out of their friendly atmosphere.

A haggard and deathly thin man stumbles out of the bushes and falls on his knees, muttering something about house elves and tournaments, about documents that had to be sent and signed. The four champions share a look before carefully walking up to the newcomer, all of them ready to defend if it came to it.

“ _Sweet tit of Merlin_.” Cedric whispers to himself quietly, earning a look from the other three, “Isn’t that Crouch? What the hell is he doing here if he is supposed to be sick?” But he doesn’t move closer to the man, just to be safe.

Harry casts a quiet _lumos_ and tries to see if there is someone else following Crouch out of the forest. “No idea, but we need to call someone over. The headmaster or Hagrid, at least, since he is closer.” It’s decided that they go for Hagrid first and then get someone else.

Crouch dies in the hospital, without having said or explained a thing.

…

“Remember, you go in and forfeit immediately.” Sirius holds Harry by the boy’s shoulders. The man’s grey eyes are filled with worry, just as much worry as Remus shows with not being able to sit still and Regulus demonstrates with the light tap of his fingers against the side of his wand. “If anything happens, you have your portkey, right?”

Harry nods, since words don’t work at the moment. Still, the boy closes his eyes, calms down his breathing and walks to stand next to the other three champions. They all look determined in the face of the challenge – Viktor holds his wand in a tight grip, Cedric keeps mumbling spells under his breath and Fleur simply breaths calmly.

The other three know of Harry’s plan. They support it fully, both because they don’t want their new-found friend in danger and because Harry fully believes that this is _their_ tournament to compete in and to win.

The trumpets start to play and Viktor enters first. Harry cheers for him, just as he then cheers for Cedric and Fleur as they both disappear through the archway leading into the hedge maze. Each time the leaves rustle with an eerie sound, move as if the thing were alive.

When Harry enters the maze the leaves shut tightly behind him, the noise cuts off as if it had never been there in the first place, the light from the torches and wands disappears and only fog and uncomfortable darkness remains. A few seconds ticks by before Harry raises his wand and shoots red lights sky high. He forfeits as promised and it’s already easier to breathe.

Bill Weasley comes to get him, an easy, wolfish grin on his face. “Good job, shorty! Now, let’s go watch the others struggling through this.” The oldest of the Weasley kids ruffles Harry’s hair and leads the boy out.

He sits in the chairs meant for the champions, in case they drop out, calm and relaxed now that his part is over. His family look less worried, but still cautious of everyone present, anyone who goes near Harry. The projectors above the maze flicker as they switch from Cedric to Fleur when Harry feels a hand curl fingers around his upper arm. The scars mark it as Moody, but face does not belong to the professor.

“How dare you Black, ruin my Lord’s plan.” The man hisses in Harry’s ear and yanks the boy out of his seat. Sirius and Remus are nowhere to be seen, but Regulus is already moving towards Harry, the man’s eyes a clear reflection of naked surprise and dangerous, dark _hatred_. “ _Tch_ , so that traitor noticed me.”

Something is forced into Harry’s hands, there is a familiar pull and lurch in his navel and the crowds disappear. The last thing Harry sees is the fear in Regulus’ eyes.

…

He’s in a cemetery now. The air buzzes with oppressive magic, Harry’s scar is on fire and the ground is still wet from yesterday’s rain. The man, someone Harry had never seen before, but is wearing Moody’s clothes, drags him over to a tombstone, takes away his wand and ties him there.

“The Dark Lord will reward me for this.” The man laughs, licks his lips quickly. His hands are trembling for some reason as he makes his way to a huge black cauldron placed on an old grave space. “Bellatrix! _Bellatrix_ , where are you?”

The woman comes frolicking into Harry’s field of vision, her hands holding a squirming bundle by her chest. “Ooooh, here you are Barty! So the little _baby boy_ forfeited after all, I see.” She coos in Harry’s direction, laughs madly when she sees the boy flinch. “I still remember our duel last year. Ickle baby Harry.”

The bundle in the woman’s arm squirms some more and a horribly disfigured arm reaches out from the blankets to grab onto her dress. Bellatrix shushes it gently and places it on the ground, next to the cauldron. Barty hurries around, trying to find something in the vague light of the setting sun.

“The Dark Lord will be happy with me. He will. Need to get the bone of the father, need to find the grave.” Barty mutters to himself as he carefully looks at each gravestone there, his fingers running along the engravings in the stone. “We have the blood of the enemy, the damned Black brat.”

Bellatrix unsheathes a knife from her dress, licks it and places it next to the squirming bundle. “Shh, shh my Lord. We will be successful. We will bring you back.” She gently strokes _Voldemort’s_ head and Harry feels like he will puke any moment now.

The boy wiggles around in the ropes, trying to reach the portkey wrapped around the wrist of his right hand. It’s hard, impossible with how he is tied up. A quiet _thump_ somewhere behind the stone angel he is tied to makes the boy stop in his movements and peer around discreetly to try and see what it had been.

Viktor stops and stills the moment he takes in the scene and notices Harry. The Durmstrang student places a finger on his lips to make sure the younger boy stays quiet, before he covers the cup with fallen leaves and hides behind a tombstone. Harry resumes his moving, not to arouse suspicion when Bellatrix suddenly whips her head around and narrows her eyes at the dark behind Harry.

“I smell something. _Something new_.” Bellatrix hisses, her teeth bared and wand held before her. Barty stops, but one shake of the woman’s head shows him not to bother. She alone is enough for this. “I like to play with little _rats_ that don’t belong. Come here, come out, little rat. Come and play with me.” Her laughter promises nothing good.

She moves past Harry, sneers at him and then creeps deeper into the cemetery. When her footsteps fade away Harry feels the ropes binding him loosening. Viktor speaks quietly from behind the tombstone as he cuts the conjured ropes open. “Do you have a portkey? Ve need to get out of here. _Now_.”

“I have. But my wand is with him.” Harry is just as quiet when speaking. The ropes finally snap and Barty slowly stands up from the crouch he had bent down into. “Shit, he heard us.”

Viktor is fast, so much faster than Harry had ever seen the other to be, when he casts a stunner towards the Death Eater. The spell is blocked, but Harry is already moving forward and towards where his wand is lying on the ground. Viktor doesn’t stop casting spells and hexes that Harry has never even seen.

“Bella! Get the _fuck_ back here, you stupid woman! The damned Bulgarian is here, take him out already.” Barty flicks his wrist and something explodes. Viktor grunts in pain. “Black! You little _shit_ , don’t you dare!”

Harry doesn’t think as he gathers his wand and then immediately casts _stupefy_ towards Barty. The spell connects and the man falls on the ground unconscious. It’s even before Barty has stopped calling for her that Bellatrix is already there with them and the ground around Viktor is on fire. Another curse soon hits Harry’s leg and cuts the flesh open.

Even through the pain and without much thought Harry grabs the knife lying next to bundle and, without looking, stabs it into the loudly waling _thing_ that Voldemort had been reduced to. The thing _screams_ even louder now, a horrible sound that makes Harry’s head split open and the boy puke. But it’s dead now, whatever it had been. The gurgles stop and the thing’s disfigured hands fall limp onto the cloth wrapped around it.

Viktor yells something in Bulgarian, Bellatrix is screaming as well – curse words one after another. Harry is hit with a curse that makes his whole body seem like it is on _fire_ and every fiber of his being is in pain. It cuts off as soon as it started, with Harry’s throat raw and whole body trembling from leftover pain.

“Portkey, vere is it?” Viktor demands in a rushed tumble of words. His hold tight on Harry’s arms as he tries to get them both moving and _away_ from Bellatrix and the fire. “Get us out, Harry, _now_.”

Without saying a thing Harry shows the other his right wrist, the bracelet that is wrapped around it snugly. Once Viktor is touching it Harry croaks out the activation command. “ _Paradise._ ”

…

Harry and Viktor land in the middle of the living room of the Black cottage. Harry is still shivering from the _cruciatus_ he had been under and Viktor’s breathing does not sound right _at all_. The wards shift and vibrate against Harry’s skin and there are footsteps and urgent shouts of Harry’s name coming towards them.

“Harry? _Harry_! Remus, tell Sirius that he is here!” Regulus is the first to reach the living room. His hair is messy and the long coat Regulus had worn is long gone. “Krum? What even--? _Later_. Are you alright? Harry, talk to me.” There is a steady calm to Regulus’ voice, even if his hands are frantic in checking over his nephew.

Harry slumps against his uncle’s side and shakes his head. “I… She hit me with a _crucio_ , I don’t…. There was a _thing_ that was Vo-Volde…” The boy coughs and shivers even stronger, unable to speak for any longer. “Something is wrong with Vikto…r…”

Sirius and Remus are both already there as well, panting and, in part, relieved to see Harry alive. Sirius is instantly on his son’s side and places his hand against Harry’s sweaty forehead. Remus goes to Viktor and carefully performs a diagnostic spell to see what is wrong with the teenager. They converse in quiet and calm words, the Bulgarian student trying to explain the spell he had been hit with.

Regulus bites back a curse suddenly, just as Sirius is giving Harry cold water to drink. The two brothers exchange a look and Regulus subtly nods towards his left arm, where the Death Eater mark rests black and ugly under the long sleeve of his button-down shirt.

_He is back. Barty must have had a contingency plan_ , Regulus mouths as he picks up Harry to carry and bring him to St. Mungos. Remus helps Viktor stand, his scarred hands careful as they hold the boy’s broken arm in one place. The werewolf furrows his eyebrows in worry and casts a questioning glance towards Harry.

Sirius shakes his head in denial. _Didn’t we destroy his things, we got rid of the cup_ , the man then mouths to his brother, his back to Viktor so that the Durmstrang student doesn’t see what he should not. They hurry to the fireplace, as fast as they can go, careful not to jostle Harry too much in case of a backlash.

“Not all of them _yet_.” Regulus answers in a whisper instead and steps into the green fire.

…

In the end the four champions still stood before the maze, even if it was a week later. Viktor receives his winnings and immediately splits it into four parts, giving 250 galleons to each of his fellow champions. When Harry tries to refuse his part, Cedric wraps his arms around the teenager (and that makes Harry freeze for a very different reason) and holds the boy still as Fleur swiftly puts the money in the pockets of his robes.

Viktor, now free of any lasting influence of Bellatrix’s curse, laughs loud and booming. The spectators soon follow.

“You better be keeping in touch.” Fleur wags a finger in Harry’s face. She is smiling wide and happy, her hair loose around her face. She throws a look over her shoulder and winks at Bill Weasley. “I will be in your Gringots, working on my English.”

Harry hugs the girl instead of a reply. “You better not work _too hard_ with Bill. People might get ideas.” He whispers in her shoulder instead, not even minding the light slap on the arm that he gets back for his advice.

Viktor ruffles Harry’s hair and shakes Cedric’s hand. Karkarov had run away soon after the tournament and now Viktor was in charge of the Durmstrang students, not that it changed anything from before. “Ve are strong together. Especially ven ve have such good friendships, even if they are new. Ve vill need it from now on.”

It’s not a happy ending of a year, but it’s good enough. Many may not believe what Dumbledore had told about the new rise of Voldemort, but that will change with time and connections made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Line taken from books, a little modified.  
> Luna's dress looks like  this  , for those who are interested.
> 
> SO! I have updated. And I update only now because I had no inspiration to write this for the longest of times and then I was busy with life. But it's here now - sorry for the long wait. Don't know when the next chapter will be out, though. Probably whenever I get around to taking on year 5.
> 
> (also, no concrete pairings for this fic as of yet, keep that in mind! ❤️️)


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